Andrew  Kentley 


•Jlst  tot  me  dl«  and  b«  buriad  here"  &c.— Page  87 


ANDREW  BENTLEY 


OR 


How  HE  RETRIEVED  His  HONOR 


ILLUSTRATED 


A  STORY  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR 

Founded  on  Facts 


BY  WALTER  SCOTT  BROWNE 


Published  by  A.  C.  Graw,  Camden,  N.  J. 


Copyright,  1900, 

By 

Walter  Scott  'Browne. 
All  rights  reserved. 


Ifr5 


To  the  many  dear  friends  who  so  kindly  gave  me  aid,  com- 
fort and  good  cheer,  during  the  long,  long  months  of 
a  painful  affliction    of    the    body,  at    which 
time  this  story  was  carefully  written, 

this  Volume 
Is  respectfully  dedicated  by  the  author. 

;  Vineland,  N.  J.,  January  31,  1900. 


CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Chapter    i.  Off  for  the  War I? 

Chapter    2.  An  Unsatisfactory  Interview  28 

Chapter    3.  Wounded  46 

Chapter    4.  Drafted  62 

Chapter    5.  The  Lonely  Picket 76 

Chapter    6.  On  to  Gettysburg — Cowardice   91 

Chapter    7.  In  search  of  Apple-jack 112 

Chapter    8.  Trapped 124 

Chapter    9.  The    Escape   134 

Chapter  10.  A  Night  in  the  Woods  152 

Chapter  1 1.  Kindness  of  the  Slave 174 

Chapter  12.  Return  to  the  Union  Lines  191 

Chapter  13.  Battle  of  the  Wilderness—Desertion   197 

Chapter  14.  An  Arrest  Frustrated 220 

Chapter  15.  An  Interview  with  President  Lincoln  ....  235 

Chapter  16.  Again  a  Soldier— Villainy  of  Williams  ...  252 

Chapter  17.  Bentley  Carries  a  Message  265 

Chapter  18.  Wounded— Marriage— Death  296 


PREFACE. 

No  event  that  occurred  during  the  years  of  the 
now  expiring  century  was  fraught  with  so  much 
earnest,  anxious  solicitude  as  the  dark  days  of  that 
period  known  as  the  Civil  War. 

It  is  best  remembered  by  those  who  passed 
through  it.  Not  alone  by  those  who  stood  upon 
the  field  of  carnage,  but  also  by  the  many  who 
watched  and  waited  and  prayed,  in  the  homes 
found  in  every  town  and  hamlet  throughout  the 
land. 

The  never  ceasing  onward  march  of  time  has 
retired  to  the  great  army  of  the  dead,  many  thous- 
ands of  those  who  survived  the  clang  and  clash  of 
war.  But,  "  when  shall  their  glory  fade  ?" 

In  their  day  and  generation  they  served  their 
country,  and  it  is  for  them  we  gather  the  fragrant 
blossoms  of  spring-time,  but  none  of  richer  or 
sweeter  perfume  than  the  memories  they  have  left 
in  the  hearts  of  a  grateful  people. 

The  scythe  of  time  has  also  been  at  work  among 


14  PREFACE. 

those  who  were  non-combatants,  and  the  flight  of 
almost  half  a  century  has  left  upon  the  stage  of  ac- 
tion but  a  very  few  of  those  who  figured  as  charac- 
ters in  this  story. 

While  we  have  at  times  indulged  in  fancy's  vis- 
ion, and  occasionally  been  obliged  to  draw  upon 
our  imagination,  our  story  is  founded  upon  facts  as 
they  occurred. 

Our  purpose  in  writing  this  book  has  been  two- 
fold :  To  endeavor  to  earn  our  daily  bread  under 
adverse  circumstances ;  second,  to  possess  in  print, 
a  record  of  the  doings  of  the  friends  of  other  days. 

We  have  tried  to  give  a  clear  recital  of  events 
in  a  plain,  simple  way,  and  trust  that  a  perusal  of 
these  pages  will  help  keep  in  mind  that  momentous 
period  of  our  national  existence,  now  fast  passing 
out  of  the  memory  of  the  present  generation. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ANDREW  BENTLEY, 

--OR-- 

How  HE  RETRIEVED  His  HONOR, 


CHAPTER  I. 

OFF  FOR  THE  WAR. 

HE  excitement  which  swept  over  the 
North  occasioned  by  the  attack  upon 
Fort  Sumpter  had  barely  subsided, 
when  news  came  of  the  terrible  dis- 
aster to  the  Union  army  at  Bull  Run,  causing  the 
land  to  be  shrouded  in  gloom  and  sorrow. 

President  Lincoln  had  issued  his  call  for 
'Three  Hundred  Thousand"  men,  and  every- 
where patriotic  hearts  were  responding. 

The  call  had  been  heard  by  the  inhabitants  of 

the  staid  little  village  of  N ,  nestled  among 

the  hills  of  Western  Pennsylvania,   whose   popu- 
lation consisted  of  barely  one  hundred   souls   all 

2 


1 8  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

told,  and  who  had  never  known  a  much  greater 
event  than  the  coming  of  the  tri-weekly  mail,  usu- 
ally carried  by  a  boy  on  horse  back. 

Occasionally  the  interest  would  be  aroused  by 
a  "Punch  and  Judy"  show  which  never  failed  to 
draw  plenty  of  patrons  from  the  village  and  sur- 
rounding neighborhood.  This  was  about  all  that 
broke  in  upon  the  serenity  of  their  every  day  life. 

But  now  the  village  was  astir,  and  the  absorb- 
ing topic  of  conversation  rested  on  four  young 
men  of  the  place,  who,  having  heard  the  strains  of 
martial  music  issuing  from  a  band  at  a  recruiting 
office  in  an  adjoining  town,  and  filled  with  pa- 
triotism and  love  of  country,  Alpheus  Forrest, 
George  Coulter,  Phineas  Gray  and  Andrew  Bent- 
ley,  had  enlisted  for  the  war.  All  four  of  them 
favorites  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  and  young 
men  of  high  respectability.  They  had  enrolled 

their  names  in  Company  A  of  the  Sixty 

Regiment  of  Pennsylvania  Volunteer  Infantry, 
and  were  now  sporting  the  royal  blue  of  a  Union 
Soldier,  the  first,  no  doubt,  that  many  of  the  in- 
habitants had  ever  looked  upon.  The  older  citi- 
zens recalled  the  days  of  the  "Mexican  War," 
while  a  few  of  the  grandfathers  went  farther  back 
and  talked  of  the  war  of  1812,  but  all  narrowed 


OFF   FOR   THE   WAR.  19 

down  to  the  enlistment  of  these  young  men  and 
their  probable  fate. 

Every  attention  was  bestowed  upon  them  by 
the  admiring  swain  of  the  village  and  neighbor- 
hood. Evening  parties  and  suppers  were  gotten 
up  for  their  especial  benefit. 

But  the  day  of  their  departure  was  drawing 
near,  for  their  company  had  been  ordered  to  report 
to  its  regiment  then  stationed  at  Pittsburg,  which 
was  under  marching  orders  to  proceed  to  the  front. 

Affecting  were  the  farewell  scenes  in  the 
homes  of  at  least  three  of  our  soldier  boys,  for 
George  Coulter  was  an  orphan,  having  lost  both 
parents  at  an  early  age,  he  had  been  adopted  and 
brought  up  by  a  kind  neighbor  for  whom  he  had 
labored  faithfully  until  within  a  few  years  of  the 
opening  of  our  story. 

Farmer  Forrest  and  his  wife  bade  their  son, 
Alpheus,  an  affectionate  good-bye,  with  a  "God 
bless  you,"  while  tears  fell  thick  and  fast  upon  their 
withered  cheeks. 

The  patriotic  father  of  Phineas  Gray  gave  his 
boy  his  blessing,  and  bade  him  to  be  true  to  the  old 
flag.  He  declared  "it  was  too  bad  he  could  not 
go  himself."  But  having  served  a  term  of  enlist- 
ment on  the  frontier,  and  being  more  or  less  crip- 


2O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

pled  with  rheumatism,  he  was  obliged  to  wait  at 
home  for  the  news  of  the  daring  deeds,  that  would 
surely  be  performed  by  his  Phineas. 

It  was  in  the  Bentley  homestead  that  the  parting 
was  most  sad.  The  aged  father  tried  with  heroic 
fortitude  to  bear  up  and  not  show  any  signs  of 
breaking  down,  for  the  fond  mother  had  given 
away  entirely,  and  clung  with  sobs  to  the  bosom  of 
her  son.  She  had  years  before  lost  her  eldest  son, 
George,  by  a  fatal  accident  in  a  mill,  and  her 
youngest  son  being  absent  from  home,  the  going 
of  this,  her  second  boy,  who  had  never  been  away 
above  a  fortnight  at  a  time,  seemed  to  crush  her 
heart  strings.  She  had  placed  within  the  pocket 
of  his  blouse  his  little  Testament  and  now  begged 
of  him  to  read  a  portion  of  it,  if  possible,  every  day 
and  put  his  trust  in  the  God  that  had  sustained  her 
these  many  years. 

With  a  tender  embrace  and  parting  kiss  from 
his  mother,  followed  by  a  warm  clasp  of  the  hand 
of  his  aged  father,  Andrew  tore  himself  away,  and 
with  a  throbbing  heart  hastened  down  the  shady 
walk  to  the  front  gate  where  he  turned  and  took  a 
last  lingering  look  upon  the  home  that  had  shel- 
tered him  for  years,  and  which  might  never  shelter 
him  again.  Then  with  a  resolute  look  upon  his  face 


OFF   FOR   THE   WAR.  21 

he  quickly  crossed  the  road  and  took  the  path 
through  the  orchard  which  led  in  the  direction  of 
Judge  Preston's  residence,  for  Andrew  had  another 
duty  before  him. 

For  years  he  had  cherished  a  tender  feeling  for 
Annie  Preston,  the  beautiful  dark  haired  daughter 
of  the  Judge,  and  he  had  reason  to  believe  his  pas- 
sion was  returned,  although  nothing  had  ever 
passed  between  them  on  the  subject.  But  in  their 
earlier  life  they  seemed  to  choose  the  companion- 
ship of  each  other,  and  in  school,  many  a  bright 
yellow  pippin  or  rosy  cheeked  Baldwin  apple  found 
its  way  from  Andrew's  pocket  into  Annie's  desk. 
And  had  he  not  always  found  time  to  work  the  most 
intricate  problems  in  arithmetic  for  her?  Annie 
had  a  host  of  friends  among  the  boys  and  girls  in 
school,  and  especially  was  she  admired  by  one 
Henry  Williams,  a  large  stout  boy  about  ready  to 
leave  school,  more  on  account  of  his  size  than 
advancement  in  his  studies ;  he  was  the  eldest  son 
of  Squire  Williams,  who  kept  the  only  store  the 
village  could  afford. 

Henry  possessed  one  faculty  developed  above 
all  others,  and  that  was  his  ability  to  drive  a  sharp 
bargain.  No  doubt  this  was  inherent  from  his 
father,  and  from  his  experience  in  the  store,  where 


22  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

it  was  said  by  some  that  he  did  not  always  give 
the  most  exact  measure.  Aside  from  this,  he  was 
rather  prepossessing  in  his  appearance,  always 
wore  good  clothes  and  when  he  would  try,  could 
make  himself  quite  agreeable.  He  had  aimed  in 
his  boyish  way  to  engraft  himself  into  the  good 
graces  of  Annie  Preston,  but  the  fair  Annie  treated 
him  only  with  the  respect  due  a  school  companion. 
She  made  no  show  of  preference  for  any  one,  unless 
it  was  for  the  stalwart  Andrew,  whose  blue  eyes 
caused  her  a  peculiar  thrill  of  delight  when  they 
looked  so  earnestly  into  her  dark  ones,  as  he  ex- 
plained the  intricacies  of  the  application  of  cube 
root. 

It  was  to  this  fair  maiden  that  Andrew  was 
now  hastening  to  say  a  last  farewell  ere  he  joined 
his  comrades  who  were  to  wait  for  him  at  Squire 
Williams'  store,  for  the  Squire  had  kindly  arranged 
to  have  his  hired  man  drive  them  to  the  Com- 
pany's rendezvous.  His  rapid  steps  soon  brought 
him  to  the  walk  leading  up  to  the  Preston  man- 
sion. Annie  stood  at  the  gate  waiting  to  greet 
him.  She  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  uniform  as 
he  emerged  from  the  orchard  and  had  hastened 
down  to  the  gate  to  meet  him. 

As  he  approached  her,  Andrew  never  appeared 


OFF   FOR   THE   WAR.  23 

to  a  better  advantage  in  the  eyes  of  Annie.  His 
close  fitting  uniform  showing  off  his  tall  form,  he 
appeared  so  soldierly  in  his  every  movement,  that 
her  eyes  beamed  with  the  joy  and  pride  she  felt  in 
her  heart  for  her  soldier-boy  school-mate. 

Andrew  had  resolved  that  on  this,  his  good- 
bye call,  to  reveal  the  state  of  his  feelings,  and  if 
possible  to  exact  a  promise  from  the  fair  maiden, 
to  hold  his  love  in  sacred  trust  till  his  return  from 
the  war  when  he  might  claim  her  as  his  loving 
bride. 

Their  greeting  was  indicative  of  the  regard  each 
held  for  the  other,  and  as  Andrew  pressed  the  fair 
hand  extended  to  him,  a  conscious  blush  over- 
spread Annie's  face. 

"Why,  Andrew!  You  seem  to  be  in  great 
haste;  pray  what  is  the  matter?  You  look  as 
though  you  had  some  news  to  impart." 

"I  have  dear  friend,"  replied  Andrew.  "Our 
company  has  orders  to  join  the  regiment  at  once, 
which  leaves  to-morrow  for  the  seat  of  war.  In 
one  short  hour  I  must  meet  my  comrades  at  Wil- 
liams' grocery  where  a  team  awaits  us  to  take  us 
over  to  M where  we  join  our  command." 

"So  soon?"  murmured  Annie. 

"Yes,"  replied  Andrew,  "I  had  rather  expected 


24  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

it  before  this,"  and  placing  her  hand  within  his,  he 
led  her  to  a  rustic  seat  beneath  the  shade  of  a  large 
maple  that  stood  near.  "Annie,  I  have  come  to 
say  good-bye,  and  before  I  go,  I  would  like  to  ex- 
act of  you  a  promise,"  and  his  honest  blue  eyes 
looked  straight  into  hers,  and  she  read  in  them, 
that  which  brought  a  responsive  thrill  to  her  own 
heart.  "Annie,"  he  continued,  "You  will  not  for- 
get me  when  I'm  gone,  will  you?"  And  Andrew 
took  the  little  hand  that  lay  in  her  lap  within  his 
own,  brown  with  exposure  to  the  wind  and  sun. 
She  did  not  withdraw  it  and  he  felt  encouraged  to 
proceed. 

"Dear  girl,  I  need  not  tell  you  how  much  you 
are  to  me,  and  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to  say  good- 
bye to-day.  I  may  never  be  privileged  to  return, 
but  the  pain  of  parting  would  be  lessened,  and  my 
soldier  life  brightened,  did  I  but  carry  with  me  the 
knowledge  of  your  true  heart-felt  affection  and 
your  promise  that  when  I  return — if  I  am  per- 
mitted to  do  so — I  may  claim  you  as  my  bride." 

Annie's  head  had  drooped  on  his  shoulder,  and 
Andrew  noticed  a  glistening  tear-drop  course  its 
way  down  her  blushing  cheek. 

She  raised  her  head  and  he  saw  her  dark  eyes 
were  suffused  with  tears.  Her  voice  trembled  as 


OFF   FOR   THE   WAR.  2  5 

she  made  reply,  "Andrew,  you  have  asked  to-day 
for  that  which  has  long  been  yours,  but  never  did 
I  realize  until  your  coming  just  a  few  moments  ago 
how  much  I  loved  you,  and  how  noble  you  looked 
in  your  soldier  blue,  but  Oh,  how  sad  to  think 
that  you  must  go  so  soon.  But  Andrew,  prom- 
ise me  one  thing — that  you  will  never  disgrace  the 
uniform  which  you  now  wear.  You  know  the 
strong  love  our  family  all  bear  for  the  dear  old  flag, 
and  when  you  return  as  one  of  its  defenders,  be 
you  unscathed  or  maimed  by  shot  or  shell,  I  will 
join  my  lot  to  yours,  happy  in  the  consciousness 
of  being  a  brave  soldier's  wife." 

Andrew  drew  her  to  his  bosom,  and  printed  a 
betrothal  kiss  upon  her  ruby  lips.  "God  bless 
you,  my  darling,  you  have  given  me  that  which  will 
enable  me  to  endure  the  weary  march  with  greater 
cheerfulness,  and  prove  a  companion  on  the  lonely 
picket,  and  in  the  heat  of  conflict,  I  shall  not  forget 
that  I  am  battling  for  home,  for  loved  ones,  and  my 
country's  honor.  And  now  dearest," — looking  at 
his  watch — "my  hour  is  most  up  and  a  soldier  must 
be  promptly  on  time.  I  must  say  adieu." 

Again  they  embraced  and  with  a  heavy  heart 
she  proceeded  up  the  shady  walk  toward  the 
house,  while  Andrew  with  hasty  steps  turned  into 


26  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

the  road  leading  to  the  village.  Just  before  he 
reached  the  bend  in  the  road,  he  turned,  stopped, 
and  looked  back.  Annie  was  standing  on  the 
steps  of  the  veranda  watching  him.  He  threw  her 
a  parting  kiss,  and  she  responded  by  a  wave  of  her 
handkerchief,  a  few  more  steps  and  he  was  hid 
from  her  sight. 

She  entered  the  house  to  take  up  the  hum 
drum  of  every-day  life,  while  Andrew  hurried  on 
to  join  his  comrades  in  waiting  for  him  at  the  gro- 
cery. The  driver,  under  a  patriotic  inspiration, 
had  bedecked  his  team  and  wagon  with  flags  and 
streamers  until  it  looked  like  a  triumphal  chariot. 

The  entire  community  had  turned  out  to  bid 
them  good-bye  and  wish  them  "God  speed." 

A  few  old  snare  drums,  together  with  an  old 
bass  drum,  that  had  seen  service  for  almost  a  cen- 
tury back,  had  been  found  with  willing  hands  to 
beat  them,  and  when  old  cobbler  King,  who  had 
served  as  a  fifer  in  the  war  of  1812  appeared  with 
his  old  yellow  fife  and  struck  up  the  tune  of  "The 
girl  I  left  behind  me,"  the  cheer  that  went  up  from 
those  assembled,  was  such  as  had  never  been  heard 
before  in  the  staid,  quiet  country  village. 

Hand  clasps  were  given,  farewells  were  said, 
and  amid  waving  flags  and  handkerchiefs,  loud 


OFF   FOR  THE  WAR.  2? 

huzzas  and  the  rattle  of  the  drums,  the  quartette 
of  young  patriots  were  driven  away,  leaving  behind 
many,  whose  eyes  were  filled  with  a  suspicious 
moisture,  for  in  small  villages  the  people  seem 
more  closely  bound  together  than  in  large  cities. 

And  thus  the  village  of  N had  contributed 

her  first  invoice  for  the  defense  of  the  old  flag. 


28  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AN  UNSATISFACTORY  INTERVIEW. 

UT  little  work  was  done  the  balance  of 
the  day,  for  the  nerves  of  the  villagers 
had  been  wrought  up  to  such  a  pitch 
that  they  did  not  feel  like  toiling.  They 
preferred  to  discuss  the  probable  future  of  the  four 
brave  boys  who  had  gone  out  from  among  them. 

"I  prophesy  that  Andy  Bentley  will  come  home 
a  'Gineral'  or  some  other  big  officer,"  said  the  old 
shoemaker,  with  whom  Andrew  had  always  been 
a  favorite. 

"He  won't  prove  a  better  fighter  than  my  Phin- 
eas,"  said  old  Major  Gray,  who  had  just  joined  the 
group  that  had  gathered  in  the  grocery  store. 
"My  boy  has  pluck  from  away  back,"  he  continued, 
"and  I  told  him  not  to  disgrace  his  colors  no  mat- 
ter where  he  was  placed."  Poor  fond  father,  he 
little  knew  how  well  his  boy  would  fulfill  his  injunc- 
tion and  at  what  a  sacrifice. 

"I'll  wager  a  barrel  of  flour  on  our  boy,  George 


AN    UNSATISFACTORY   INTERVIEW.  2Q 

Coulter,  proving  the  best  soldier  of  the  lot,"  said 
Squire  Williams  as  he  straightened  out  the  goods 
that  had  become  disarranged  on  the  shelves. 
George  had  made  his  home  for  several  years  back 
with  the  Squire  and  they  had  become  much  at- 
tached to  him. 

"I'm  afraid  neighbor  Forest's  Alph  won't 
stand  the  hardships.  He's  a'llers  been  sort  of 
sickly  like  and  a  great  home  boy,"  said  the  first 
speaker.  "But  we  shall  see." 

Every  day  the  interest  in  the  coming  of  the 
mail-man  increased,  and  news  was  eagerly  looked 
for  from  the  seat  of  war. 

The  regiment  had  moved  by  rail  to  Washing- 
ton and  went  into  camp  near  the  city,  and  later, 
moved  out  about  eight  miles  to  Camp  Hays. 
Here  our  soldier  boys  had  their  first  experience  in 
the  daily  routine  of  camp  life.  Their  spare  mo- 
ments were  spent  in  writing  letters  home. 

All  was  moving  along  with  its  usual  serenity  in 

N ,  the  coming  of  the  mail-man  was  eagerly 

looked  for,  and  letters  from  either  of  the  absent 
four  were  first  read  at  home,  then  to  eager  groups 
who  would  gather  to  listen  to  news  "from  the 
army,"  as  the  expression  went. 

But  there  were  letters  received  at  the  N 


3O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

post-office  that  did  not  become  common  property ; 
they  were  meant  for  one  pair  of  eyes  alone.  An- 
nie Preston  eagerly  devoured  the  loving  epistles 
that  came  from  her  soldier  boy,  and  in  return  she 
sent  messages  laden  with  love  and  affection,  that 
went  a  great  way  to  cheer  our  lonely  soldier's  heart. 
Annie  had  always  been  a  favorite  with  Andrew's 
mother,  but  now  the  bond  of  friendship  between 
them  seemed  to  strengthen,  and  she  was  often  to 
be  seen  treading  the  path  through  the  orchard  lead- 
ing in  the  direction  of  Farmer  Bentley's.  Annie's 
visits  were  much  enjoyed  by  Andrew's  mother  al- 
though she  had  not  the  slightest  conception  of  the 
bond  existing  between  her  son  and  this  fair  daugh- 
ter of  the  rich  Judge  Preston. 

The  work  of  organizing  and  putting  into  prop- 
er condition  the  vast  army  that  was  assembling 
under  the  leadership  of  McClellan,  or  "Little 
Mac,"  as  he  was  familiarly  called  by  the  men  under 
him,  was  pursued  with  vigor  during  the  fall,  and 
extending  well  into  the  winter. 

The  regiment  to  which  our  young  heroes  be- 
longed went  into  winter  quarters  near  Fort  Lyon 
in  Virginia,  and  settled  down  to  as  much  comfort 
as  they  could  possibly  get. 


AN   UNSATISFACTORY    INTERVIEW.  3! 

With  the  reader's  indulgence  we  will  here  give 
in  brief  a  transaction  that  occurred  some  time  prior 
to  the  opening  of  our  story,  in  order  to  shed  light 
upon  subsequent  events,  and  show  the  sacrifice  a 
father  made  at  a  time  when  he  needed  the  strong 
arm  of  a  stalwart  son. 

The  early  days  of  the  gold  excitement  in  Cal- 
ifornia had  found  John  M.  Bentley,  the  father  of 
Andrew,  among  the  many  who  rushed  from  all 
points  in  the  East,  to  seek  a  fortune  in  the  rich 
mines  reported  to  be  discovered  in  the  mountain 
valleys  along  the  Pacific  slope. 

After  enduring  many  hardships,  and  meeting 
with  many  reverses  of  fortune,  he  at  last  developed 
a  rich  claim  and,  seized  with  an  intense  longing  to 
see  his  loved  ones  whom  he  had  left  far  back  in  the 
East,  and  being  somewhat  broken  down  by  expos- 
ure, he  resolved  to  give  up  the  life  of  a  miner. 

He  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  a  ready  pur- 
chaser for  his  claim  at  a  good  figure,  and  with  his 
suddenly  acquired  wealth,  he  at  once  set  his  face 
toward  the  land  of  his  birth,  resolved  to  settle 
down  for  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

A  short  time  after  his  arrival  in  the  East,  an 
opportunity  was  given  him  of  buying  a  fertile  tract 
of  land  lying  close  to  the  little  village  of  N . 


32  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Mr.  Bentley  paid  for  this  land  with  a  portion 
of  the  gold  he  had  brought  from  California. 
With  the  remainder  of  his  wealth  he  erected  a  com- 
modious dwelling-house  and  neat  barn. 

He  also  stocked  his  farm  with  cattle,  and  a  few 
good  draught  horses,  for  he  was  more  disposed  to 
stock  raising  than  tillage  of  the  ground. 

It  was  not  long  before  Meadowfield  farm — for 
such  it  was  called — was  looked  upon  as  the  most 
desirable  of  any  of  the  homesteads  to  be  found 
among  the  many  fertile  farms  with  which  West- 
moreland county  abounded,  and  ere  a  decade  of 
years  had  passed,  Mr.  Bentley,  the  gold  miner,  had 
transformed  into  the  prosperous  farmer. 

His  eldest  son  had  chosen  the  vocation  of  a  mill- 
er and,  as  has  been  stated,  had  met  with  an  accident 
which  caused  his  untimely  death. 

The  youngest  son,  a  mere  youth,  spent  much 
of  his  time  with  an  uncle  living  in  Michigan,  with 
whom  he  was  a  great  favorite. 

This  left  but  one  boy  at  home,  Andrew,  a  strong 
sturdy  lad  nearing  manhood,  who  proved  to  be  a 
great  help  to  his  father  in  the  management  of  the 
farm. 

A  few  years  previous  to  the  opening  of  our 
story,  a  company  had  been  organized  to  prospect 
for  oil  within  the  territory  surrounding  N . 


AN   UNSATISFACTORY    INTERVIEW.  33 

Test  wells  were  to  be  put  down,  and  Farmer 
Bentley,  still  possessing  the  spirit  that  led  him 
westward  in  quest  of  gold,  now  became  enthusi- 
astic over  the  prospect  of  getting  oil. 

He  declared  that  he  believed  that  in  a  little 
while  they  would  find  their  valleys  as  rich  as  any  of 
the  mineral  land  lying  in  the  valley  of  the  Yuba. 

It  was  quite  natural  that,  being  so  enthusiastic, 
he  was  a  ready  investor  and  held  a  considerable 
amount  of  stock  in  the  new  venture. 

Derricks  went  up,  and  day  and  night  the  sound 
of  the  drill  could  be  heard,  as  well  after  well  went 
down,  but  nothing  but  a  slight  flow  of  gas  was  ever 
realized. 

At  once  the  golden  visions  of  the  investors  took 
wings  and  sped  away,  leaving  them  nothing  but 
the  ashes  of  disappointed  expectations. 

Another  enthusiast  over  the  expected  discovery 
of  oil  was  good  old  Doctor  Merriman,  who  had  al- 
so invested  heavily ;  so  much  so,  that  being  unable 
to  realize  much  in  way  of  collections,  he  was 
obliged  to  apply  to  Squire  Williams  for  a  loan. 

This  the  Squire  was  willing  to  grant,  provided 
the  doctor  would  furnish  good  security. 

Doctor  Merriman  knew  he  had  during  his  long 


34  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

professional  career  befriended  many  in  a  financial 
way,  but  to  find  a  friend  when  now  in  need  was  an- 
other thing  to  consider. 

But  he  felt  sure  of  one  to  whom  he  could  apply, 
whom  he  felt  would  be  willing  to  befriend  him,  for 
he  had  in  other  days  found  John  M.  Bentley  a  man 
always  willing  and  ready  to  assist  a  friend. 

But  as  Bentley  had,  as  he  knew,  lost  heavily  in 
the  ill-starred  oil  speculation,  and  the  amount  for 
which  he  desired  to  secure  an  endorsement  being  a 
large  one,  he  pondered  over  the  matter  for  some 
time  before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  ask  his 
neighbor  for  his  signature. 

When  Doctor  Merriman  approached  his  neigh- 
bor he  found  him  ready  to  accommodate  him,  but 
the  farmer  frankly  told  his  old  physician  that  he 
was  poorly  prepared  to  stand  good  for  an  obliga- 
tion of  that  kind  without  a  great  sacrifice,  in  event 
of  the  doctor  being  unable  to  meet  it  when  called 
upon. 

The  honest  old  doctor  set  the  farmer's  fears  at 
rest,  by  stating  that  Squire  Wililams  was  willing  to 
give  the  money  for  an  indefinite  time,  and  that  in 
order  to  secure  his  friend  he  would  execute  a  judg- 
ment in  favor  of  Farmer  Bentley,  to  hold  until  his 
payment  of  the  debt  to  Squire  Williams. 


AN    UNSATISFACTORY   INTERVIEW.  35 

This  seemed  satisfactory,  and  the  endorsement 
of  John  M.  Bentley  appearing  upon  the  paper,  the 
money  was  readily  obtained  from  the  Squire. 

This  debt  was  made  payable  in  gold,  the  issue 
of  paper  currency,  familiarly  known  as  "green- 
backs," not  having  yet  taken  place. 

The  financial  stress  having  been  relieved,  the 
old  doctor  gave  no  more  thought  on  the  matter, 
and  as  Squire  Williams  was  not  sorely  in  need  of 
money,  the  years  went  on  apace  and  the  obligation 
remained  uncancelled. 

It  was  in  the  early  spring  time  of  the  opening 
year  of  the  war  that  an  unlooked  for  accident  oc- 
curred, shocking  the  entire  community,  and  for  the 
time  driving  from  the  minds  of  the  inhabitants  of 
N and  vicinity,  all  speculations  of  the  com- 
ing struggle. 

Doctor  Merriman  was  like  most  all  country 
physicians,  a  public  servant,  who  was  expected  to 
answer  the  demands  of  the  public,  at  any  and  all 
hours  of  the  day  or  night. 

He  was  a  faithful  practitioner,  waiting  upon  rich 
and  poor,  without  discrimination. 

It  was  on  his  return  from  a  night  visit  to  a  poor 
family,  where  in  all  probability  the  pay  for  his 
services  would  likely  be  more  gratitude  than  any- 


36  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

thing  else,  that  he  was  found  one  foggy  morning 
lying  unconscious  at  the  foot  of  a  precipitous  bluff, 
amid  the  wreck  of  his  buggy  and  a  dead  horse. 

No  one  knew  how  it  happened,  but  the  road  at 
this  point  had  always  been  considered  dangerous, 
and  its  icy  condition  at  this  time  of  the  year  gave 
grounds  for  the  supposition  that  probably  in  the 
dense  fog  the  old  doctor  had  driven  too  near  the 
edge. 

In  his  unconscious  condition  they  tenderly 
carried  him  home,  where  in  a  few  short  hours  of 
great  anxiety  to  his  family  and  those  at  his  bedside, 
he  who  had  fought  back  the  "grim  reaper"  from 
many  a  home  in  the  community,  yielded  to  the  in- 
exorable and  passed  away,  leaving  much  of  his 
work  unfinished  and  his  business  affairs  in  an  un- 
settled condition. 

Doctor  Merriman  had  a  large  family  that  had 
never  been  taught  to  practice  economy,  and  the 
demand  upon  his  purse  had  been  both  constant  and 
heavy. 

The  good  old  man,  while  very  attentive  to  his 
patients,  had  proven  a  poor  collector  and  some- 
what negligent  of  his  business  accounts. 

Those  appointed  to  settle  up  his  affairs  found 
but  few  charges  upon  his  books,  although  all  knew 
his  practice  was  a  large  one. 


AN   UNSATISFACTORY   INTERVIEW.  37 

It  was  soon  demonstrated  that  his  estate  was 
deeply  insolvent.  The  claim  of  Squire  Williams 
had  never  been  liquidated,  but  in  addition,  the  in- 
terest for  several  years  back  had  not  been  paid. 

This  indebtedness,  Farmer  Bentley  was  obliged 
to  assume.  He  paid  to  Squire  Williams  the  inter- 
est due,  and  as  he  was  not  able  to  cancel  the  obli- 
gation at  that  time,  he  gave  the  Squire  a  first  mort- 
gage upon  Meadowfield. 

However,  it  was  tacitly  understood  by  both, 
that  the  mortgage  would  not  be  foreclosed  without 
first  having  Farmer  Bentley's  consent. 

Andrew  Bentley  was  aware  of  this  indebted- 
ness, and  for  months  prior  to  his  enlistment  had 
been  assiduous  in  his  duties  on  the  farm,  and  the 
entire  family  had  been  observing  the  most  rigid 
economy  that  the  mortgage  might  be  lessened, 
and  in  time  lifted. 

But  the  tidal  wave  of  patriotism  was  sweeping 
o'er  the  land,  and  for  the  present  all  other  aspira- 
tions were  submerged  and  Andrew  was  already  a 
soldier,  hoping  that  he  could  at  least  help  his  father 
a  little  by  sending  home  his  monthly  pay. 

Annie  Preston  did  not  attend  the  school  in  the 
little  academy  that  winter.  The  illness  of  her 
mother  rendered  it  necessary  to  remain  at  home. 


38  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

There  were  also  several  absentees  among  the  young 
men  who  usually  attended.  A  number  of  them 
had  caught  the  war  fever  and  had  enrolled  them- 
selves among  the  country's  defenders  ,  and  our 
young  friend,  Henry  Williams,  concluding  he  was 
of  more  need  in  his  father's  store,  decided  to  re- 
main away  from  school  that  winter  also.  He  was 
in  this  way  afforded  an  opportunity  of  seeing  Annie 
Preston  and  waiting  upon  her,  when  she  occasion- 
ally paid  a  visit  to  the  store  to  purchase  some  nec- 
essary article  for  use  at  home. 

Henry  had  all  along  cherished  the  hope  that 
some  day  the  fair  Annie  would  condescend  to  smile 
upon  him,  and  now  since  Andrew  Bentley  was  ab- 
sent there  seemed  to  be  a  clear  field  to  pursue  the 
most  cherished  desire  of  his  heart  and  win  the  ob- 
ject of  his  affection,  but  Annie  always  seemed  to 
carry  with  her  an  air  and  manner  that  kept  Henry 
at  a  respectful  distance. 

But  one  morning  she  came  tripping  into  the 
store  with  so  much  sunshine  in  her  face  that  Hen- 
ry's stock  of  courage  experienced  quite  a  raise. 
Annie  had  just  received  a  long  letter  from  Andrew, 
and  consequently  was  in  a  very  cheerful  frame  of 
mind. 

Henry  waited  upon  her  very  attentively  and  af- 


AN    UNSATISFACTORY    INTERVIEW.  39 

ter  placing  her  purchases  carefully  in  her  basket, 
lifting  his  hat,  he  politely  remarked  that  he  would 
carry  her  basket  for  her  as  he  was  going  over  her 
way.  The  young  lady  thanked  him  and  together 
they  left  the  store  and  proceeded  up  the  highway 
that  led  to  Judge  Preston's  residence. 

House  delivery  of  packages  purchased  was  not 

in  vogue  at  that  date  in  N ,  but  Henry  had 

made  this  ostensible  excuse  in  order  to  secure  an 
interview  with  Annie.  The  air  was  crisp  and  cool, 
although  the  sun  was  doing  his  best  to  warm  up 
frozen  nature.  As  they  walked  along,  .Henry  was 
thinking  very  hard  for  something  to  say  that 
might  lead  up  to  the  subject  most  in  his  mind. 

They  had  walked  along  some  distance  in  silence, 
when  Annie  noticing  her  companion's  reticence, 
asked  him  if  anything  had  gone  wrong  in  his  bus- 
iness at  the  store. 

"Business  never  was  better,"  was  Henry's 
prompt  answer.  "Made  a  good  deal  last  week  in 
the  purchase  of  a  large  lot  of  potatoes,  as  early  this 
week  an  agent  for  the  Government  was  around  try- 
ing to  buy  up  all  the  potatoes  he  could  for  the 
army,  consequently  they  have  advanced  twenty 
cents  on  the  bushel." 

"This  war  makes  hardships  not   only   on   the 


4O  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

field  of  battle,  but  at  home  as  well/'  replied  his  fair 
companion,  "for  with  the  rise  in  the  price  of  the 
commodities  of  life,  the  efforts  of  the  poor  man  to 
support  his  family  become  harder,  as  well  as  the 
families  of  soldiers  in  the  field,  for  the  pay  of  an  en- 
listed man  is  not  very  large,  I  understand.  Oh, 
how  I  wish  the  war  was  over!"  And  her  voice 
was  full  of  pathos. 

"No  doubt  you  do,  in  fact  we  all  do,  but  war 
makes  times  good  and  business  brisk,  and  that  is 
what  we  all  like  to  see.  I  believe  every  man  should 
look  out  for  himself." 

Annie  turned  upon  him  with  a  look  in  her  eyes 
in  which  surprise  and  contempt  were  both  min- 
gled. "Why  Henry  Williams !  I  did  not  think 
you  would  count  the  gain  in  dollars  and  cents  to 
be  compared  to  the  suffering  and  sorrow  that  is 
now  abroad  in  our  land." 

Henry  at  once  saw  his  mistake  and  hastened  to 
rectify  it.  "You  misunderstand  me,  Annie.  I  only 
meant  that  it  was  the  part  of  every  good  business 
man  to  embrace  the  advantages  which  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  war  bring,  and  over  which  he  has  no  con- 
trol." 

"I  am  in  full  sympathy  with  our  soldiers  at  the 
front,"  he  continued,  "and  have  of  late  thought  se- 


AN   UNSATISFACTORY    INTERVIEW.  4! 

riously  of  enlisting  myself."  Henry  hardly  meant 
all  of  the  latter  remark,  but  he  advanced  it  as  an 
act  of  diplomacy. 

"I  am  pleased  to  hear  you  say  this  Henry,  for 
our  country  stands  in  need  of  every  loyal  defender. 
Your  father  could  easily  get  hired  help  to  assist 
him  in  the  store,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  make  a 
brave,  courageous  soldier,  one  that  our  village 
would  be  proud  of."  And  Annie  beamed  upon 
him  a  look  which  made  Henry's  heart  thrill  with 
joy. 

"Would  you  really  like  to  see  me  go  as  a  sol- 
dier? Would  you  miss  me  very  much?"  and  here 
Henry's  voice  had  almost  a  perceptible  tremor  in  it. 

"To  be  sure  I  would  like  to  see  you  in  the  uni- 
form of  one  of  our  country's  defenders  and  as  for 
missing  you,  you  well  know  that  our  society  is  not 
so  large  but  that  the  most  modest  and  retiring 
would  be  missed." 

This  was  not  just  the  answer  that  Henry  was 
eagerly  expecting.  They  had  by  this  time  reached 
the  gate  of  the  pathway  leading  to  the  house,  and 
Henry  determined  before  relinquishing  his  hold 
upon  the  basket  to  make  one  more  attempt  to  learn 
whether  there  was  any  hope  of  having  a  place  in 
the  affection  of  the  fair  maiden  at  his  side. 


42  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

"Annie,"  and  in  his  gray  eyes  there  was  a  look 
she  had  not  seen  before,  "I  would  gladly  enlist  to- 
morrow, and  cheerfully  take  up  the  hardships  of  a 
soldier's  life,  if  I  but  knew  that  while  I  was  battling 
for  my  country,  there  was  one  very  dear  to  me  at 
home  who  would  cherish  my  memory  and  wait  and 
watch  for  my  return,  and  that,  that  one  was  your 
own  dear  self." 

This  was  hardly  unexpected,  for  Annie  had  a 
suspicion  that  Henry  cherished  for  her  a  feeling  of 
more  than  ordinary  friendship,  but  she  was  sur- 
prised at  the  fervor  of  his  tone  and  the  manner  of 
declaration,  for  close  to  this  very  spot,  over  a  year 
before,  a  declaration  of  almost  like  character  had 
been  poured  into  her  ear. 

Her  face  was  suffused  with  blushes  reaching  to 
the  roots  of  her  dark  waving  hair,  and  it  was  a  mo- 
ment before  she  made  reply.  When  she  did  so, 
her  eyes  seemed  to  have  a  far  away  look,  as  though 
she  was  trying  at  that  moment  to  pierce  the  dis- 
tance that  lay  between  her  and  the  dear  one  then 
in  the  ranks  of  the  Nation's  defenders. 

Her  voice  was  kind  but  firm.  "Henry,  you 
should  not  let  a  passing  fancy  be  the  motive  to 
prompt  you  to  deeds  of  valor,  but  it  should  be  a 
higher  one — a  love  of  country — a  desire  to  defend 


AN  UNSATISFACTORY   INTERVIEW.  43 

a  flag  that  has  never  known  dishonor.  I  cannot 
promise  all  you  ask,  but  I  will  pray  for  you  as  I  do 
for  all  our  soldiers,  and  when  you  return,  will  be 
glad  to  welcome  you  back  as  my  soldier  friend." 

But  this  did  not  satisfy  the  prospective  Son  of 
Mars.  So  he  resolved  upon  another  attempt  to 
awaken  her  feeling.  "But,  dear  friend,  may  I  not 
have  some  hope  to  carry  with  me,  to  help  me  on 
the  weary  march  and  nerve  me  in  the  heat  of  con- 
flict? Think  of  what  you  are  able  to  do.  Your 
promise  would  cheer  me  in  the  darkest  hour,  and 
be  the  spur  to  urge  me  on  to  deeds  of  heroism.  I 
would—" 

But  here  Annie  interrupted  him.  "You  must 
not  speak  to  me  in  this  manner,  and  I  am  wrong  in 
listening  to  you.  Please  let  me  have  my  basket  for 
I  see  mother  is  waiting  for  me." 

Henry  handed  her  the  basket,  and  in  as  pleas- 
ant a  tone  as  possible  to  command  under  the  ex- 
isting state  of  affairs,  he  lifted  his  hat,  bidding  her 
a  polite  good  morning,  turned  on  his  heel  and 
rapidly  strode  back  toward  the  village,  while  he 
muttered  to  himself :  "Confound  it !  I'll  bet  a  good 
sum  she  has  given  a  promise  to  Andy  Bentley." 

"Dear,  me !  but  she  has  high  notions  of  patriot- 
ism. To  hear  her  talk  one  would  think  she  was  a 


44  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

direct  descendant  from  Daniel  Webster.  I  won- 
der if  she  thinks  I  am  dying  to  go  and  eat  hard- 
tack and  salt  pork,  and  at  the  command  of  a  big 
epauletted  General,  march  up  to  be  riddled  by  rebel 
bullets." 

"No,  pray  excuse  me!  I  prefer  to  sell  coffee 
and  sugar  in  my  father's  store,  and  then  when  the 
brave  soldier  comes  home  covered  with  glory  and 
precious  little  money  in  his  pocket,  how  much  nicer 
it  will  be  for  me  to  look  over  my  snug  bank  account 
and  feel  I  am  secure  against  a  rainy  day."  And 
comforting  himself  with  thoughts  like  these,  he  en- 
tered his  father's  store  and  passed  the  remainder  of 
the  day  in  attending  to  the  wants  of  customers  and 
receiving  the  produce  brought  in  for  sale  or  ex- 
change. 

He  was  quite  busy  all  day,  but  while  his  hands 
were  occupied  with  the  work  before  him,  his  mind 
kept  pace  with  his  hands,  though  in  another  direc- 
tion, for  while  Henry  Williams  had  met  with  a  po- 
lite refusal  at  the  hands  of  the  fair  Annie,  he  was 
by  no  means  willing  to  give  up  his  suit ;  but  what 
troubled  him  most  was  the  position  she  took  re- 
garding the  duty  every  young  man  owed  his  coun- 
try. 

Henry  had  no  taste  for  war.     He  was  at  heart 


WOUNDED.  45 

a  coward,  and  as  before  stated,  his  intimation  of 
enlisting  was  only  made  for  policy  sake.  True,  he 
might  be  willing  to  go  for  a  short  time,  provided  he 
could  secure  a  safe  place  in  the  Commissary  De- 
partment and  a  promise  of  affection  from  Annie 
Preston,  but  as  neither  seemed  within  his  grasp, 
Henry's  mind  was  busy  perfecting  some  other  way 
to  secure  the  prize. 


46  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  III. 
WOUNDED. 

HE  coming  of  the  warm  days  of  spring  had 
quite  an  enlivening  effect  upon  the 
army  which  had  been  lying  in  snug 
winter  quarters  around  Washington 
and  adjacent  parts  of  Virginia.  Great  things  were 
expected  of  the  "Army  of  the  Potomac,"  and  when 
it  began  to  uncoil  itself  like  a  huge  serpent,  and 
move  out  of  its  camps,  the  interest  throughout  the 
land  was  fully  aroused. 

A  campaign  against  Richmond  had  been  plan- 
ned by  way  of  the  Peninsula.  The  army  was  car- 
ried by  transports  down  the  river,  landing  at  Fort- 
ress Monroe  in  great  strength. 

Early  in  April  it  slowly  began  its  march  towards 
Yorktown,  which  was  evacuated  by  the  Confed- 
erates and  taken  peaceable  possession  of  by  the 
Union  army.  Next  followed  the  battle  of  Wil- 
liamsburg  in  which  the  Sixty regiment  par- 
ticipated, bearing  the  brunt  of  the  battle  and  ren- 
dering gallant  service. 


WOUNDED.  47 

This  being  the  first  battle  in  which  our  four  sol- 
dier boys  were  under  fire,  their  feelings  can  bet- 
ter be  imagined  than  described,  but  no  doubt  their 
thoughts  were  of  home,  as  shot  and  shell  went 
screaming  through  the  air,  carrying  death  and  de- 
struction in  their  wake. 

The  battalion  in  which  their  company  ranked 
was  ordered  to  fix  bayonets  and  charge  across  a 
marshy  strip  of  land  to  dislodge  a  body  of  the  en- 
emy, that  were  stationed  in  the  wood  beyond, 
whose  fire  had  been  very  destructive. 

Andrew  Bentley  cast  a  brief  glance  down  the 
line  to  observe  the  faces  of  his  three  companions. 
He  was  not  disappointed,  for  each  one  had  stamped 
upon  his  countenance  a  look  of  resolute  determin- 
ation. The  word  was  given,  and  the  line  moved 
out  as  if  on  parade.  Not  a  waver,  but  with  the 
steadiness  of  veterans  they  moved  on. 

Just  as  they  reached  the  borders  of  the  morass 
alluded  to,  the  ominous  silence  was  broken  by  a 
terrific  volley  of  musketry  from  the  woods  beyond, 
which  swept  the  entire  line.  Many  sank  down  mo- 
tionless, forever  still,  while  others  threw  up  their 
hands,  clutching  wildly  at  the  air,  plunged  forward 
to  sink  down  in  the  soft  oozy  mud,  there  to  wal- 
low like  animals  in  their  death  struggle. 


48  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

For  a  moment  the  advance  was  checked,  but 
the  commanding  officer,  seeing  a  delay  at  this  point 
would  prove  disastrous,  he  sharply  gave  the  com- 
mand to  "Forward !  Double  quick  time !"  and  the 
line  dashed  forward  leaving  their  dead  and  wound- 
ed as  they  fell.  As  the  line  had  reached  the 
swampy  morass  just  before  the  murderous  fire 
which  proved  so  fatal,  Andrew  Bentley  in  trying 
to  secure  a  firm  foot  hold,  suddenly  slipped  and 
endeavoring  to  regain  his  equilibrium,  plouted 
forward  into  the  swamp  just  in  time  to  escape  the 
devastating  fire.  He  quickly  regained  his  feet  and 
dashed  forward  with  his  comrades.  He  felt  that 
the  mishap  was  more  providential  than  accidental, 
for  the  man  who  marched  directly  behind  him  lay 
silent  upon  the  edge  of  the  morass,  with  a  gaping 
wound  in  his  breast,  but  he  had  no  time  to  reflect 
on  "what  might  have  been,"  for  the  line  was 
quickly  emerging  from  the  dark  mud  through 
which  they  had  passed,  and  gaining  the  solid 
ground  without  waiting  to  reform  their  line,  with 
a  wild  "Huz-za"  they  dashed  into  the  wood  driv- 
ing everything  before  them,  and  capturing  a  light 
battery  that  had  just  come  up  to  the  support  of 
the  infantry,  but  had  not  time  to  unlimber  and  get 
into  position. 


WOUNDED.  49 

The  fight  was  won,  but  at  a  fearful  cost,  for 
back  along  their  track  lay  at  least  one-third  of  the 
brave  band  that  started  in  the  charge  so  valiantly. 

A  detail  was  made  up  to  look  after  the  dead  and 
wounded,  and  when  Andrew  Bentley  was  chosen, 
he  was  much  pleased  for  when  the  line  was  re- 
formed, he  had  missed  the  form  of  Phineas  Gray, 
and  he  felt  anxious  to  learn  of  his  fate. 

The  wounded  were  assisted  to  higher  ground 
where  it  was  dry,  and  those  who  were  past  all  need 
of  earthly  help,  were  tenderly  carried  and  laid  in 
rows  by  the  border  of  the  swamp. 

Andrew's  worst  fears  were  realized,  for  among 
those  mortally  wounded  he  found  his  comrade 
Phineas.  The  poor  boy  realized  he  had  only  a 
short  time  to  live,  for  from  an  ugly  wound  in  his 
side,  his  life-blood  was  slowly  ebbing  away.  An- 
drew placed  him  a  little  apart  from  the  rest.  He 
gave  him  a  drink  of  water  from  his  canteen,  which 
seemed  to  revive  him  some.  He  hastened  to  pro- 
cure some  clear  water,  which  he  carried  in  his  cap, 
and  kneeling  beside  him,  proceeded  to  bathe  his 
comrade's  wounds,  first  cutting  away  the  mud- 
stained  garments,  and  doing  his  best  to  stop  the 
flow  of  blood.  In  this,  he  was  in  a  measure  success- 
ful ;  then  after  tenderly  removing  the  splashes  of 

4 


50  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

mud  from  the  white  face  and  hands  of  Phineas,  and 
binding  his  handkerchief  as  best  he  could  over  the 
gaping  wound,  he  sat  down  and  took  the  hand  of 
his  comrade  in  his  own. 

"Phineas,  my  brave  boy,  is  there  any  word  you 
would  want  me  to  send  home?" 

The  dying  soldier  opened  his  blue  eyes  and  said, 
"Yes !  Tell  'em  at  home  we  whipped,  only  I  was  not 
in  at  the  finish." 

"But  Phineas,  haven't  you  a  word  for  your 
father  and  mother?" 

"Yes,  tell  'em— tell  'em— I  did  all  I— could, 
but  it  wasn't  much.  Yes, — tell  mother — not — to 
weep —  for  her  boy, — for — I — am  not — afraid — to 
die." 

Just  then  the  other  two  comrades  came  up,  and 
soon  the  trio  were  kneeling,  and  with  eyes  dimming 
with  tears,  were  gazing  into  the  face  of  their  fast 
sinking  comrade. 

"Boys!"  said  Phineas,  "Don't — ever — turn — 
your — back — on — the — old — flag !  You,  Andy, — 
and  you — George — and  Alpheus, — may — you — all 
— get — safely — home.  Good-bye,  but — tell — 'em  I 
— couldn't — come." 

An  ashy  pallor  had  crept  over  his  face,  he  closed 
his  eyes,  his  limbs  quivered  and  they  all  thought 


WOUNDED.  5 1 

him  dead,  but  just  then  a  bugle  in  the  distance  rang 
out  and  with  a  start  the  young  soldier  partly  raised 
himself  by  an  almost  superhuman  exertion. 

His  eyes  blazed  with  their  wonted  light ;  he  lis- 
tened a  moment.  "Tis  the  assembly  call ;  I  must 
hasten,  meet — me — in " 

His  head  fell  back,  there  was  a  strange  rattle  in 
his  throat,  and  Phineas  Gray's  soul  had  gone  out 
to  join  the  great  encampment  on  the  other  shore. 

His  companions  having  secured  leave  of  ab- 
sence, carried  his  body  to  the  foot  of  a  great  pine 
tree  that  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  and  after 
wrapping  him  in  his  blanket,  they  dug  a  grave  and, 
with  sad  hearts,  tenderly  placed  the  form  of  the 
young  soldier  within.  First  covering  it  with  small 
branches  gathered  from  the  evergreen  pine  they 
filled  in  the  soft  mould,  and  thus  passed  from  sight 
one  of  the  yeomanry  of  our  land.  The  first  martyr 

from  the  town  of  N to  the  great   cause   of 

freedom. 

The  three  survivors  after  concluding  their  labor 
of  love,  stood  and  gazed  at  each  other,  while  the 
unspoken  question  was,  Who  will  be  the  next? 

The  roar  of  the  cannon  had  ceased,  and  while 
away  to  the  right  came  occasionally  the  rattle  of 
musketry,  the  battle  was  practically  over.  Night 


52  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

closed  down  on  the  scene  of  conflict,  and  under  its 
cover  the  enemy  evacuated  the  town,  and  next 
morning  the  Union  army  moved  forward  to  within 
seven  miles  of  the  rebel  Capitol. 

The  news  of  the  battle  of  Williamsburg,  and  the 

death  of  Phineas  Gray  reached  N in  advance 

of  the  letters  from  his  surviving  comrades,  but  when 
Andrew  Bentley's  letter  to  the  aged  father  was  read, 
conveying  the  news  incident  to  the  death  of 
Phineas,  the  entire  town  went  into  mourning.  A 
special  memorial  service  was  held  in  the  little 
church,  and  an  appropriate  funeral  sermon  was 
preached  by  the  white  haired  pastor. 

The  patriotic  old  father  of  Phineas  dwelt  long 
and  lovingly  upon  the  scene  of  his  boy's  death  and 
his  parting  words,  and  while  the  tears  streamed 
from  his  eyes,  so  he  could  not  see  the  lines,  he  kept 
repeating  to  himself,  "Well,  he  died  just  as  I  would 
have  him.  I'm  glad  he  didn't  disgrace  his  uni- 
form." 

With  the  mother  it  was  different ;  she  could  find 
no  solace  for  the  loss  of  her  boy ;  her  grief  was  of 
the  silent  kind.  Already  prostrated  upon  her  bed 
with  the  infirmities  of  age,  she  daily  grew  weaker 
until  before  the  summer  sun  had  reached  its  full 
zenith,  her  gentle  spirit  went  out  to  meet  that  of  her 
soldier  boy  Phineas. 


WOUNDED.  5  3 

Annie  Preston  had  also  received  from  Andrew 
a  full  account  of  the  battle  and  the  death  of  his  com- 
rade. She  shed  copious  tears  as  she  perused  the 
letter  for  she  well  remembered  the  bright  eyed 
youth,  and  Annie  had  a  dread  that  she  might  ere 
long  be  called  to  mourn  the  death  of  one  now  very 
dear  to  her. 

On  the  3  ist  of  May  was  fought  the  battle  of 
Fair  Oaks.  The  regiment  lost  heavily  in  this  bat- 
tle. Company  A  was  in  the  hottest  of  the  fight  and 
covered  itself  with  glory.  Our  young  friend, 
George  Coulter,  displayed  great  heroism  during  the 
fight  and  won  the  chevrons  of  sergeant. 

Early  in  the  action,  Andrew  Bentley  received  a 
bullet  wound  in  the  right  arm,  and  although  it  was 
much  against  his  will,  he  was  compelled  to  repair  to 
the  hospital.  There  it  was  discovered  that  his 
wound  was  more  serious  than  it  at  first  appeared. 

Alpheus  Forrest  passed  through  the  battle  un- 
scathed. He  whom  they  had  prophesied  at  home 
would  not  be  able  to  stand  the  hardships  of  the 
march  and  battle,  seemed  to  grow  more  rugged 
every  day. 

The  tide  of  conflict  swept  on,  but  Andrew's  con- 
finement in  the  hospital  prevented  him  from  taking 
part  in  the  many  battles  which  followed  in  that  dis- 


54  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

astrous  campaign.  His  wound,  though  only 
through  the  fleshy  part  of  the  arm  seemed  stubborn 
and  resisted  all  attempts  at  healing.  A  low  fever 
set  in,  and  instead  of  Andrew  improving,  his 
strength  was  waning.  He  had  been  sent  with 
many  others  to  one  of  the  hospitals  near  Washing- 
ton; but  the  wounded  from  the  many  battlefields 
coming  in  so  fast,  the  conditons  of  things  necessi- 
tated a  removal  of  those  best  able  to  stand  a  jour- 
ney to  a  hospital  at  Annapolis,  and  our  friend  An- 
drew found  himself  among  those  to  be  sent  away. 

After  his  arrival  at  Annapolis,  he  for  a  time  ap- 
peared to  improve,  but  one  day  being  exposed  to  a 
cold  draught  of  air,  which  swept  in  from  off  the 
bay,  he  was  forced  back  to  his  cot  again  in  the  ward. 
Here  we  find  him  writing  to  Annie,  and  with  her 
permission  we  will  give  our  readers  a  portion  of 
the  letter. 

Convalescent  Hospital, 
;  Annapolis,  Md. 

Oct.  5th,  1862. 
Dearest  Annie: — 

Here  I  am  still  in  the  hospital.  I  had  hoped 
when  I  wrote  you  last,  I  would  write  my  next  from 
the  convalescent  camp  near  this  place,  or  what 
would  be  more  pleasant,  to  greet  you  all  at  home, 
which  I  might  be  able  to  do  if  I  could  only  secure 


WOUNDED.  5  5 

a  furlough,  but  it  seems  they  don't  care  to  grant 
furloughs  to  men  in  my  condition.  It  would  be 
about  as  easy  to  secure  a  discharge,  but  I  am  hop* 
ing  day  after  day  to  be  able  to  go  back  to  the  ranks. 
If  I  could  only  get  hold  of  something  that  would 
taste  good.  Oh,  how  I  would  relish  some  of 
mother's  good  apple-dumplings.  I  know  they 
would  not  hurt  me.  Four  long  months  has  it  been 
since  I  first  came  into  the  hospital.  My  wound  has 
about  healed  but  it  seems  I  cannot  get  away. 

This  is  all  we  will  give  of  the  letter,  as  the  rest 
is  not  for  our  perusal.  Annie  received  this  missive 
one  cold  snowy  evening.  Her  mind  had  been  ill 
at  ease  of  late,  owing  to  Andrew's  protracted  ill- 
ness, and  the  occasional  attempts  of  Harry  Wil- 
liams to  renew  his  suit. 

She  read  the  letter  twice,  then  quietly  putting 
on  her  wraps  she  made  her  way  in  the  twilight  to 
the  home  of  Andrew's  parents,  for  a  thought  had 
taken  possession  of  her  mind,  and  with  Annie  to 
think  was  to  act.  She  had  revealed  the  existing 
state  of  affairs  betwixt  Andrew  and  herself  to  his 
mother,  when  news  first  came  of  his  being  wounded 
and  the  mother  having  loved  her  as  a  daughter,  was 
now  more  than  ever  pleased.  Annie's  visit  though 
late,  was  no  surprise,  as  she  came  both  early  and 
late.  After  laying  aside  her  wraps,  she  came 


56  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

quickly  to  the  object  of  her  visit.  "I  have  received 
a  letter  from  Andrew,"  she  remarked  as  she  took 
the  seat  proffered  her,  and  drawing  it  forth,  pro- 
ceeded to  read  that  portion  already  known  to  our 
readers. 

When  she  came  to  the  part  wherein  Andrew 
spoke  of  it  being  about  as  easy  to  procure  a  dis- 
charge as  a  furlough,  she  stopped  and  very  em- 
phatically said,  "Why  not  try  and  get  a  discharge? 
Andrew  can  recover  better  at  home  than  there,  and 
when  he  gets  well  and  strong,  he  can  enlist  again  if 
he  wishes  to."  The  father  was  only  too  glad  to  re- 
ceive assistance  in  getting  his  boy  home,  so  Judge 
Preston  was  consulted,  and  the  two  interviewed 
the  Congressman  of  their  district,  and  received  his 
promise  to  use  his  influence  in  Andrew's  behalf. 

It  was  not  many  days  thereafter  when  an  offi- 
cial envelope  was  placed  in  Andrew's  hands.  He 
eagerly  opened  it  and  drew  forth  a  neatly  folded 
paper  which,  upon  opening,  proved  to  be  an  honor- 
able discharge  from  the  United  States  service  for 
disability  arising  from  impaired  health. 

This  was  truly  a  surprise  to  the  invalid.  "How 
came  it  all  about?  Who  had  taken  so  much  inter- 
est in  him?"  All  day  long  Andrew  puzzled  his 
brain  to  know  by  what  means  it  was  secured,  but 
no  one  seemed  able  to  tell  him. 


WOUNDED.  57 

In  the  evening  mail  a  letter  came  from  Annie 
and  the  mystery  was  solved,  and  now  Andrew  was 
quite  anxious  to  be  on  his  way  homeward.  He  re- 
mained, however,  until  morning  when,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  some  kind  comrades,  he  made  his  way  to 
the  depot  and  boarded  the  early  express  for  home, 
first  having  sent  a  telegraph  message  that  he  would 

arrive  at  M ,  the  nearest  station  to  N , 

about  six  P.  M.  of  that  same  day. 

The  journey  home  was  enjoyed  by  the  invalid 
soldier.  The  change  of  scene  did  him  good,  and  he 
felt  a  new  fire  in  his  veins  as  he  gazed  out  of  the  car 
window  on  the  snow  covered  landscape  fast  flitting 
by,  and  realized  that  every  turn  of  the  fast  revolving 
wheels  brought  him  nearer  home.  In  due  time, 
the  train  drew  up  at  the  station  aforenamed,  and 
Andrew  proceeded  to  alight.  He  had  no  sooner 
reached  the  platform  than  his  hand  was  quickly 
grasped  and  heartily  shaken  by  Adam  Jones,  the 
hired  man  on  the  farm,  whom  Farmer  Bentley  had 
sent  to  the  station  with  the  buggy  to  bring  his  son 
home. 

The  ride  was  a  short  one,  and  soon  Andrew  was 
in  his  mother's  fond  embrace.  She  could  not  but 
notice  the  pale,  wan  cheek  and  pallid  brow  of  her 
boy,  so  much  changed  since  that  bright  summer 


58  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

morning  when  he  kissed  her  good-bye.  But  he 
was  still  her  Andrew,  and  nothing  should  be  left  un- 
done to  win  him  back  to  health  and  strength. 

The  aged  father  that  evening  in  the  family  devo- 
tions thanked  the  God  of  his  Christian  faith  that 
their  boy  was  once  more  by  their  side. 

Andrew  slept  soundly  that  night  'neath  the 
warm  blankets  which  his  mother  tucked  carefully 
around  him.  In  the  morning  he  awoke,  feeling 
much  refreshed  and  with  a  glad  joy  in  his  heart 
that  he  was  back  in  the  old  home  and  soon  to  greet 
his  loved  one,  for  he  felt  sure  Annie  would  seize  the 
first  opportunity  to  run  over.  , 

Breakfast  being  over  and  the  house-work  com- 
pleted, Andrew  was  enjoying  a  pleasant  chat  with 
his  parents  on  various  topics.  He  sat  by  the  win- 
dow out  of  which  he  cast  furtive  glances,  for  from 
where  he  sat,  he  commanded  a  view  of  the  pathway 
running  up  through  the  orchard.  All  of  a  sudden 
a  joyous  light  lit  up  his  face  and  he  tremblingly 
arose  and  approached  the  front  door,  for  he  had  rec- 
ognized a  familiar  form  coming  through  the  or- 
chard. 

His  mother  had  noticed  his  frequent  glances 
from  the  window.  She  saw  the  glad  look  come 
into  his  eyes,  and  with  a  woman's  keen  intuition  she 


WOUNDED.  59 

divined  the  cause.  With  a  significant  look  at  her 
husband  she  quietly  left  the  room,  he  soon  follow- 
ing her. 

Annie  had  all  morning  been  thinking  of  An- 
drew. She  knew  he  was  to  arrive  the  evening  be- 
fore, and  the  thought  uppermost  in  her  mind  was 
the  propriety  of  her  going  to  visit  him,  but  then  the 
desire  to  see  her  lover  was  so  great,  and  again,  she 
did  not  know  when  he  might  be  able  to  visit  the 
Preston  home.  So  after  the  morning  work  was 
done,  she  smoothed  back  her  dark  tresses,  putting 
on  a  jaunty  little  walking  hat,  and  throwing  a  wrap 
over  her  shoulders,  lightly  tripped  away  in  the  di- 
rection of  Farmer  Bentley's.  Her  heart  was  full 
of  joyous  anticipation  of  soon  standing  face  to  face 
with  her  soldier  lover. 

Andrew  stood  within  the  open  doorway,  a  look 
of  eager  expectation  in  his  eyes.  Annie  hastened 
up  the  walk  and  with  a  joyous  cry  of  "Oh !  how  glad 
I  am  that  you've  come  back,"  she  was  instantly 
folded  in  his  warm  embrace. 

As  soon  as  she  was  released,  she  stepped  back- 
ward and  took  an  earnest  survey  of  her  hero.  The 
ruddy  bloom  which  was  on  his  cheeks  when  he  last 
parted  from  her  was  gone,  the  once  neatly  fitting 
uniform  now  looked  as  though  it  was  several  sizes 


6O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

too  large.     He  smiled  to  see  her  scrutiny,  for  he 
knew  he  was  changed. 

"Not  quite  up  to  expectations,  am  I?" 

"Oh,Andrew  how  you  must  have  suffered/'  and 
as  she  looked  upon  him  with  a  face  full  of  sympathy 
and  love,  Andrew  thought  she  had  never  appeared 
so  beautiful  before. 

"Yes,  my  dear  girl,  but  I  am  feeling  much  im- 
proved already,  and  I  think  I  shall  soon  be  on  the 
highway  to  complete  health."  And  leading  her  to 
a  seat,  they  conversed  for  some  time  in  low  tones  on 
matters  of  interest  only  to  themselves. 

After  a  lapse  of  time,  they  were  interrupted  by 
Andrew's  mother  entering  the  room.  She  greeted 
Annie  warmly.  "Well,  our  soldier  boy  is  back 
with  us  again  and  we  are  all  very  happy,"  said  the 
old  lady. 

"Yes,"  replied  Annie,  "and  we  will  do  our  best 
to  win  him  back  to  health  and  strength,  though  we 
must  try  not  to  spoil  him,"  and  casting  a  mishiev- 
ous  glance  at  Andrew  she  said,  "How  about  the 
apple  dumplings?" 

"Yes,  mother,"  said  Andrew,  "you  know  I  was 
always  partial  to  that  dish." 

"Well,"  said  the  fond  mother,  "you  shall  have 


DRAFTED.  6 1 

them,  my  dear  boy,  and  anything  the  larder  will  af- 
ford if  it  but  does  you  good." 

Annie  spent  a  very  pleasant  time  in  the  com- 
pany of  Andrew  and  his  mother  and  the  forenoon 
was  nearly  gone  when  she  reluctantly  put  on  her 
wraps  and  prepared  to  return  home. 

Andrew,  although  it  required  somewhat  of  an 
effort,  walked  slowly  down  to  the  gate  with  her, 
where  they  parted,  Annie  promising  to  come  over 
often,  as  long  as  Andrew  was  unable  to  walk  about 
much. 

Thus  the  winter  at  home  passed  very  pleasantly 
to  at  least  two  of  our  characters.  Andrew  was 
much  interested  in  the  war  news,  especially  any- 
thing pertaining  to  his  old  regiment. 

The  bloody  battle  of  Fredericksburg  had  been 
fought,  and  the  Union  loss  was  quite  heavy.  In 

this  engagement  the  Sixty ,  Penna.,  was 

badly  cut  up  in  the  forlorn  attempt  to  storm  a 
stronghold  back  of  the  town  called  "Marye's 
Heights."  Many  had  fallen  and  Company  A  had 
come  in  for  its  share  of  the  mortality.  Fortu- 
nately Andrew's  two  comrades  had  escaped  with- 
out injury.  Again  had  George  Coulter  shown 
heroism,  for  which  he  had  been  rewarded  with  the 
shoulder  straps  of  a  Lieutenant. 


62  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DRAFTED. 

INTER  passed  without  much  stir  in  the 
quiet  little  village  of  N .  An- 
drew Bentley's  health  had  improved 
very  much,  and  when  he  was  able  to 
be  about  in  the  town,  many  were  the  interviews  he 
had  with  the  neighbors,  for  they  were  never  tired 
listening  to  the  incidents  of  army  life.  Quite  often 
these  interviews  were  held  in  Squire  Williams' 
store,  for  the  post-office  had  been  awarded  to  the 
Squire,  and  this  brought  in  a  goodly  number  of  the 
villagers,  especially  about  mail-time. 

Henry  Williams  took  but  very  little  interest  in 
Andrew's  conversation.  In  fact  he  seemed  to 
avoid  him,  but  this  gave  Andrew  little  concern  as 
he  had  never  been  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
young  man,  and  Annie  had  never  revealed  to  him 
that  Henry  aspired  to  a  place  in  her  affection. 

The  warm  April  sun  was  spreading  its  genial 
influence  throughout  the  land,  and  nature  aroused 
from  her  long  winter  sleep,  began  to  bestir  herself. 


DRAFTED.  63 

Everywhere  the  bursting  bud  and  blossom 
could  be  seen  robing  hill  and  dale  with  a  rich  ves- 
ture of  colors.  Andrew  had  regained  much  of  his 
usual  strength,  and  quite  often  were  he  and  Annie 
to  be  found  taking  long  strolls  through  the  wood- 
land, he  gathering  for  her  the  rarest  of  wild  flowers 
that  grew  by  the  way. 

They  had  in  the  months  gone  by,  many  conver- 
sations regarding  their  future.  As  Andrew's  health 
returned,  he  kept  urging  upon  Annie  to  name  a  day 
for  the  consummation  of  his  long  cherished  hopes. 
Annie  did  not  oppose  his  urgent  entreaties,  but  ow- 
ing to  the  serious  illness  of  her  dear  mother,  she  felt 
that  she  could  not  well  name  an  early  date  for  their 
marriage.  Recognizing  the  force  of  her  argument, 
Andrew  did  not  urge  the  matter  further  upon  her. 

The  days  passed  quietly  to  those  at  home,  but 
were  fraught  with  activity  to  those  at  the  front. 
The  telegraph  brought  the  news  of  the  terrible  bat- 
tle of  Chancellorsville,  which  proved  a  defeat  to  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac.  The  change  of  command- 
ers in  the  army  had  not  the  desired  effect,  but 
seemed  to  bring  disaster.  A  draft  was  made  of 
men  throughout  the  North  whose  ages  ranged  be- 
tween twenty-one  and  forty-five. 


64  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

And  now  happened  a  very  strange  and  unex- 
pected event  in  our  little  village.  Andrew  Bentley 
barely  recovered  from  a  long  period  of  convales- 
cence, and  holding  an  honorable  discharge,  was 
among  those  drafted.  It  was  an  unprecedented 
case  which  Andrew  felt  much  like  contesting,  but  it 
seemed  useless.  Might  triumphed  over  right,  and 
the  time  for  his  second  departure  drew  near.  An- 
drew had  fully  purposed  returning  to  the  ranks, 
but  the  thought  was  galling  to  have  to  return  as  a 
conscript  rather  than  a  volunteer  soldier.  His 
friends  were  all  in  sympathy  with  him,  but  that  did 
not  help  him  any,  so  with  a  heavy  heart  he  bade  his 
friends  adieu.  Annie  did  her  best  to  cheer  him  up. 

"Tis  not  my  going  back  to  the  war,  my  dear 
girl,  but  the  way  I  am  going,"  said  Andrew  de- 
spondently. 

"Yes,  but  you  can  still  prove  yourself  a  true  sol- 
dier," was  the  brave  girl's  reply.  "Don't  forget 
your  dead  comrade's  dying  injunction,  'Never  turn 
your  back  upon  the  old  flag.'  God  bless  you,  An- 
drew, and  may  he  bring  you  back  safe  again." 

And  with  these  words  ringing  in  his  ears,  he 
turned  his  steps  homeward  to  take  a  last  farewell 
of  his  fond  parents  ere  he  proceeded  to  the  place  of 
rendezvous  for  the  drafted  men. 


DRAFTED.  6$ 

These  men  were  not  formed  into  separate  or- 
ganizations of  their  own,  but  were  sent  forward  in 
detachments  to  fill  up  depleted  regiments,  and  by  a 
strange  coincidence,  Andrew  was  assigned  to  his 
old  company  and  regiment. 

His  greeting  with  the  two  friends  with  whom 
he  had  first  enlisted  was  a  pleasant  surprise  on  their 
part,  for  they  hardly  expected  to  see  him  back 
again  and  they  had  many  questions  to  ask  of  home. 
They  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  depressed  state  of 
Andrew's  feelings,  and  they  felt  anxious  to  know 
the  cause.  It  was  only  by  close  questioning  they 
learned  that  Andrew  was  not  in  the  ranks  as  a  vol- 
unteer soldier,  but  a  conscript,  and  this  was  far  from 
a  pleasant  reflection  to  one  of  as  high  nervous  tem- 
perament as  he  was. 

Andrew  found  the  personnel  of  the  regiment 
much  changed.  The  Colonel  who  first  took  the 
regiment  out  had  been  promoted  to  the  command 
of  a  brigade,  and  this  brought  a  change  to  many  oi 
the  other  officers  down  the  line.  In  his  own 
company,  the  Captain  had  resigned  and  returned 
home,  and  the  first  lieutenant  having  been  killed 
at  Chancellorsville,  the  company  was  now  com- 
manded by  Captain  George  Coulter,  who  bore  his 
honors  modestly.  Alpheus  Forrest  had  been  pro- 

5 


66  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

moted  to  the  position  of  Color  Sergeant,  and  to  him 
was  entrusted  the  colors  of  the  regiment  which  from 
all  appearance  gave  evidence  of  having  seen  some 
hard  service. 

Andrew  fell  gradually  back  into  the  groove  of  a 
soldier's  life ;  he  was  always  ready  for  duty,  prompt 
in  obedience,  respectful  to  his  superiors,  was  never 
heard  to  murmur,  but  with  all  this  he  seemed  and 
acted,  just  what  he  was, "a  conscript  soldier."  On 
the  march  or  in  the  battle,  he  was  always  found  in 
his  place,  but  never  exhibiting  the  enthusiasm  that 
characterized  him  in  the  earlier  days  of  his  soldier 
life.  He  wrote  and  received  long  letters  from  his 
Annie,  and  thus  the  days  passed  on.  Marches 
were  made,  battles  were  fought,  and  still  the  war 
continued,  and  the  capture  of  Richmond  seemed  as 
far  qff  as  ever  to  the  struggling  Union  Army. 

The  draft  that  called  Andrew  Bentley  from  his 
sweetheart's  side,  also  called  Squire  Williams  from 
the  grocery  store.  The  Squire  lacked  only  a  few 
years  from  being  exempt  from  the  draft.  But  the 
fiat  had  gone  forth,  and  he  must  go  as  a  soldier  or 
furnish  a  substitute.  How  to  leave  his  business  in- 
terests and  family  was  now  a  quandary.  While 
the  Squire  was  intensely  patriotic,  it  was  largely  of 
the  stay  at  home  kind  of  patriotism. 


DRAFTED.  6/ 

His  son  was  physically  qualified  to  take  his 
father's  place,  but  Henry  was  at  heart  a  coward,  and 
never  seemed  to  take  an  interest  in  war  matters 
like  the  youth  of  the  neighborhood. 

After  giving  the  matter  a  good  deal  of  serious 
thought,  and  the  time  drawing  nigh  for  the  con- 
scripts to  report  for  duty,  Squire  Williams  broached 
the  subject  to  his  son,  and  while  he  did  not  meet 
with  a  positive  refusal  from  him,  there  was  in 
Henry's  manner  that  which  did  not  offer  his  father 
much  encouragement. 

The  Squire  was  in  trouble;  he  felt  that  he  was 
poorly  able  to  go  himself,  and  that  he  should 
hardly  be  expected  to  do  so,  when  he  had  a  son  to 
take  his  place.  True,  he  might  possibly  hire  a 
substitute  as  others  had  done,  but  this  would  re- 
quire quite  a  sum  of  money,  for  large  bounties  had 
been  offered  and  paid  by  those  who  were  able  to 
do  so. 

The  Squire  had  not  in  hand  much  ready  cash, 
for  it  seemed  that  of  late — since  Henry  presided  in 
the  store — for  some  cause  or  other,  trade  had  fallen 
off  and  many  of  their  former  customers  had  trans- 
ferred their  patronage  to  a  rival  store  in  a  little  vil- 
lage two  miles  down  the  road. 

But  something  had  to  be  done;  so  the   Squire 


68  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

and  his  good  wife  held  a  conference,  and  it  was  de- 
cided to  make  Henry  the  proffer  of  a  little  stock  of 
gold  the  old  couple  had  laid  by  for  a  possible  rainy 
day.  Only  a  few  hundred  dollars,  but  they  thought 
the  claims  of  a  father  upon  a  son  should  count  for 
something. 

Henry  was  called  in,  and  the  father,  after  re- 
counting o'er  the  many  things  that  stood  in  the 
way  of  his  going  to  the  war,  finished  up  with  a  re- 
minder to  his  son,  that  he  was  asking  him  to  do  no 
more  than  many  another  young  man  had  volun- 
tarily done,  but  as  he  knew  Henry  was  just  enter- 
ing upon  manhood  and  would  need  some  little 
start  in  life,  he  stated  his  willingness  to  place  in  his 
hands  their  little  savings  for  years,  and  he  poured 
forth  upon  the  table  from  a  small  canvas  bag  his 
stock  of  gold. 

Henry's  cupidity  was  at  once  aroused  and  draw- 
ing nigh  he  asked,  while  his  gaze  rested  on  the  glit- 
tering coin,  "How  much  have  you  there,  father?" 

"Only  a  few  hundred  dollars,  my  son,  and  it  is 
yours,  together  with  a  father's  and  mother's  grat- 
itude, if  you  but  take  my  place  in  the  ranks." 

Henry  had  a  little  fund  of  his  own  laid  by,  and 
the  thought  came  to  his  mind  that  with  a  few  hun- 
dred more,  that  he  might  exact  from  his  father, 


DRAFTED.  69 

he  could  realize  a  long  cherished  desire  to  secure 
some  real  estate  of  his  own,  and  Henry's  mercenary 
principle  being  so  strongly  predominant  in  his 
make-up,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  reduce  his  parents, 
if  necessary,  to  a  very  narrow  existence  so  he  might 
accumulate  more  wealth.  Therefore  he  did  not 
readily  respond  to  his  father's  request,  for  he  fully 
realized  his  father  would  make  a  greater  sacrifice  to 
save  himself  from  serving  as  a  soldier.  And  again, 
Henry  felt  he  had  something  else  to  aspire  to  in 
preference  to  placing  himself  between  his  father  and 
rebel  bullets  and  bayonets. 

He  further  knew  his  father  held  a  mortgage 
against  Farmer  Bentley,  payable  in  gold,  and  there 
being  a  high  premium  on  gold  just  at  that  time,  he 
knew  it  would  require  quite  an  effort,  perhaps  a 
sacrifice  of  their  little  farm,  for  the  Bentley's  to  lift 
the  mortgage  should  payment  be  demanded,  and 
Henry  felt  that  it  would  be  gratifying  to  humble 
the  family ;  Andrew,  at  least. 

So  with  a  view  to  the  possession  of  this  paper, 
he  made  reply  to  his  parents,  dwelling  at  length 
on  the  risk  he  was  taking,  and  the  great  sacrifice 
he  would  make  in  giving  up  the  comforts  of  home, 
and  the  brilliant  prospects  of  a  young  man  at  his 
time  of  life.  He  casually  let  drop  that  if  a  further 


7O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

inducement  might  be  offered,  he  would  consider 
going  away. 

"My  son/*  replied  the  father,  "you  have  now 
been  offered  all  the  available  funds  I  have  at  com- 
mand." 

"Father,  you  make  a  mistake ;  do  you  not  hold 
a  judgment  against  Farmer  Bentley  that  you  can 
realize  money  upon?  This,  with  what  you  have  al- 
ready offered  me  might  be  sufficent  to  induce  me 
to  become  a  target  for  the  bullets  of  the  enemy," 
and  as  he  spoke  his  tone  was  cold  and  devoid  of  any 
warmth  of  affection  or  feeling. 

"Yes,  I  do  hold  a  mortgage  against  Farmer 
Bentley,  but  my  son,  why  do  you  ask  this  of  me? 
You  know  my  promise  to  him  when  I  took  the 
mortgage  on  his  place  was  that  as  long  as  he  paid 
the  interest  promptly  I  would  not  foreclose  it  with- 
out giving  him  plenty  of  time.  Besides,  you  know, 
my  son,  it  will  all  be  yours  after  my  death." 

True  enough,  father,"  replied  Henry,  "but  I 
have  no  doubt  if  Andrew  Bentley  were  free  to  go  in 
your  place,  you  would  gladly  surrender  to  him  the 
document,  and  surely  my  life  should  be  considered 
worth  as  much  as  his,  besides  I  have  plans  of  my 
own.  I  have  a  little  stock  of  money  which  added 
to  the  mortgage  might  enable  me  sometime  to  own 


DRAFTED.  /I 

the  Bentley  homestead,  to  which  I  might  wish  to 
conduct  a  bride  should  I  be  permitted  to  return 
from  the  war." 

"My  son,  are  you  not  satisfied  to  wait  for  that 
which  will  be  eventually  yours?  You  know  my 
promise  to  Andrew's  father,  and  I  could  not  think 
of  forcing  him  to  make  a  sacrifice  now,  when  his 
own  son  has  been  drafted  back  into  the  army.  The 
boy  went  cheerfully  at  first,  with  no  promise  of 
recompense  above  a  soldier's  meagre  pay." 

At  the  father's  allusion  to  the  patriotism  of  An- 
drew, Henry's  lip  curled  and  he  curtly  replied: 
"Well,  if  your  feeling  for  the  Bentley's  stand  in  your 
way,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  and  picking  up 
his  hat  he  quickly  walked  out  of  the  room  into  the 
store  for  he  felt  in  his  heart  that  his  father  would  be 
obliged  to  yield,  and  Henry  had  fully  made  up  his 
mind  to  possess  the  Bentley  farm,  if  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  flaunt  the  fact  of  the  poverty  of  the 
Bentley's  in  the  face  of  Annie  Preston  in  case  of  a 
final  refusal  of  her  hand. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  the  inter- 
view occurred  Henry's  father  placed  in  his  hand  the 
bag  of  gold,  saying  that  on  the  morrow  they  would 
go  before  a  notary  and  he  would  convey  the  mort- 
gage papers  over  to  Henry. 


72  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

Need  we  say  Henry  had  conflicting  dreams  that 
night?  The  prospect  of  owning  the  home  of  the 
Bentley's  gave  him  a  feeling  of  great  satisfaction, 
for  he  was  almost  confident  that  if  he  would  fore- 
close the  mortgage,  Farmer  Bentley  would  not  be 
able  to  provide  for  it  as  it  was  payable  in  gold. 
Then  his  going  away  to  the  war,  and  possibly  shar- 
ing a  fate  like  that  of  Phineas  Gray,  were  thoughts 
that  kept  Henry  awake  for  a  long  time.  But  after 
reasoning  the  thing  in  his  mind,  he  concluded  that 
not  every  one  who  goes  into  battle  gets  shot.  So 
mentally  resolving  that  he  would  keep  out  of  all 
possible  danger  he  fell  asleep,  not  to  dream  of  honor 
on  the  battlefield,  but  of  a  new  scheme  of  amassing 
wealth. 

The  next  day  Henry  became  possessor  of  the 
papers  held  against  his  neighbor,  which  he  left  in 
charge  of  the  notary  for  future  instructions,  and 
ere  the  close  of  the  day  he  had  donned  the  blue  of 
a  Union  soldier,  and  taken  his  father's  place  as  one 
of  the  mighty  host  enrolled  to  preserve  the  honor  of 
the  grand  old  Union. 

The  new  conscripts  were  soon  sent  to  the  front, 
and  Henry  found  himself  assigned  to  a  regiment  in 
the  same  brigade  as  the  one  in  which  George  Coul- 
ter, Alpheus  Forrest  and  Andrew  Bentley  were 
serving. 


DRAFTED.  73 

Camp  life  did  not  meet  Henry's  expectations, 
and  guard  duty  he  abhorred.  In  fact  he  despised 
everything  pertaining  to  a  soldier.  Hard-tack  and 
salt  pork  were  good  enough  to  sell  over  his  father's 
counter,  but  to  eat  it  and  make  long  marches  upon 
it,  was  another  thing.  Besides,  Henry  had  met 
with  a  great  disappointment  before  leaving  home 
that  had  preyed  upon  his  mind. 

He  had  again  managed  to  have  an  interview 
with  Annie  Preston,  and  told  her  of  his  high  resolve 
(so  he  put  it)  of  taking  his  father's  place  and  risking 
his  life  for  home  and  country,  and  now  would  she 
not  cherish  in  her  heart  a  little  feeling  of  affection 
for  one  who  was  willing  to  sacrifice  so  much? 

But  alas  for  Henry.  Annie's  father  that  morn- 
ing had  been  over  to  the  office  of  Attorney  Hart- 
man,  and  he  had  there  noticed  a  legal  document  ly- 
ing open  upon  the  attorney's  desk  which  the  no- 
tary, who  was  present,  remarked  was  the  price 
Squire  Williams  had  evidently  to  pay  for  a  substi- 
tute. 

Of  course  Judge  Preston  knew  at  once  that  the 
Squire's  own  son  Henry  was  the  substitute,  and  this 
news  he  repeated  at  the  dinner  table.  So  when 
Henry  began  his  parade  of  filial  duty,  and  the  glory 
of  being  a  Union  soldier,  Annie's  heart  filled  with 


74  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

a  contempt  for  this  "prating  hireling"  soldier, 
which  she  felt  like  calling  him,  and  as  she  looked 
upon  him,  the  blue  in  his  blouse  faded  into  a  miser- 
able gray,  in  comparison  with  that  of  her  own 
brave  Andrew's  uniform,  as  memory  called  up  that 
morning  when  he  first  stood  before  her  pleading 
for  her  hand. 

Therefore,  Henry  met  with  a  cold  refusal  to 
even  hold  correspondence  with  him  while  away. 
And  in  his  heart  there  was  a  feeling  which  boded 
no  good  for  Andrew  Bentley,  whom  he  was  sure 
was  the  barrier  that  stood  in  his  way,  so  he  made  a 
sinister  remark  that  she  might  some  day  learn  with 
surprise  of  the  change  in  the  social  standing  of 
some  of  her  neighbors. 

The  fair  girl's  spirit  was  aroused  by  his  manner 
and  words,  for  she  well  knew  to  whom  Henry  had 
reference.  She  knew  he  now  held  a  mortgage 
against  Andrew's  father  and  that  he  would  not  hes- 
itate to  take  a  mean  advantage  of  the  old  gentle- 
man if  he  thought  he  could  in  this  way  wreak  a  re- 
venge upon  his  son. 

With  eyes  from  which  flashed  the  light  of  defi- 
ance, mingled  with  abhorrence  for  the  cowardly 
craven  before  her,  she  addressed  him.  "Henry 
Williams!  You  measure  a  man  by  the  houses, 


DRAFTED.  75 

lands,  chattels  and  mortgages  he  may  possess.  I 
measure  by  the  high  soul  of  honor  I  may  know  him 
to  have.  His  wealth  to  me,  lies  in  his  character 
and  manly  principle,  and  the  worth  of  a  soldier  to 
his  country  and  her  cause  is  manifested  most  by 
voluntary  offering  of  himself,  without  the  consider- 
ation of  bonds  and  gold."  Henry's  gaze  quailed 
before  the  flashing  orbs  of  the  proud  girl,  for  he 
felt  that  somehow  or  other  she  knew  the  price  re- 
quired to  make  him  a  soldier,  and  it  was  with  a  feel- 
ing in  which  mortification,  disappointment  and  an- 
ger were  equally  blended,  that  he  took  his  hat,  and 
not  even  deigning  a  parting  salute  he  left  her  pres- 
ence. 

While  he  felt  he  would  give  all  he  was  worth  to 
win  that  girl,  if  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  defeat 
his  rival,  he  vowed  in  his  heart,  as  he  walked 
homeward,  that  if  it  lay  within  his  power,  Andrew 
Bentley  should  never  be  permitted  to  lay  claim  to 
the  hand  of  the  fair  Annie  Preston. 


76  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  LONELY  PICKET. 

HUS  we  find  Henry  doing  duty  as  a  sol- 
dier with  none  of  the  love  that  charac- 
terizes a  martial  spirit.  No  love  for  the 
cause  in  which  he  was  engaged,  impelled 
him  on  to  a  fulfillment  of  the  work  assigned  to  him 
by  his  superiors.  His  was  a  slavish  servitude.  No 
cheering  letter  from  a  sweetheart  at  home  to  buoy 
him  up. 

He  had  not  as  yet  met  Andrew,  or  any  of  those 

who  first  went  out  from  N ,   although  they 

were  often  in  close  proximity,  as  we  have  hereto- 
fore mentioned,  the  regiment  in  which  the  N 

patriots  were  serving  being  in  the   same  brigade, 
they  oft  times  occupied  adjoining  camps. 

Month  after  month  passed  by  without  much 
event  to  the  soldier's  life,  but  with  Henry  Williams 
the  time  passed  heavily.  His  unpleasant  manner 
made  him  to  be  detested  by  his  messmates,  and 
they  soon  learned  that  he  was  at  heart  a  coward,  so 


THE   LONELY   PICKET.  77 

it  was  not  long  before  they  showed  their  contempt 
for  the  cowardly  conscript,  as  he  was  often  called. 

Henry  had  never  given  up  the  thought  of 
wreaking  vengeance  upon  Andrew  Bentley,  and  if 
possible  effect  his  downfall.  But  the  life  of  a  sol- 
dier became  so  galling  he  resolved  in  some  way  or 
other  to  secure  a  discharge  from  the  service. 

Nothing  appeared  to  him  more  feasible  than  to 
counterfeit  an  illness  of  some  kind,  so  it  was  not 
long  after  this  thought  entered  his  head,  that  one 
morning  at  roll  call  Private  Williams  was  reported 
to  be  lying  in  his  tent  sick,  so  when  the  orderly  ser- 
geant drew  aside  the  flaps  of  his  tent  and  looked  in, 
there  lay  Henry  apparently  unable  to  rise,  and  suf- 
fering great  pain  from  what  he  claimed  to  be  an  at- 
tack of  muscular  rheumatism,  which  he  feared  he 
had  contracted  while  on  picket  duty  in  the  swamps 
of  the  Chickahominy.  He  presented  such  a  de- 
plorable picture  of  anguish  that  the  ever  kind 
hearted  sergeant  called  a  couple  of  men  to  bring  a 
stretcher  and  Henry  was  immediately  carried  off  to 
the  hospital  near  by,  where  he  was  soon  waited  up- 
on by  the  surgeon  in  charge  who,  after  carefully 
diagnosing  his  case,  all  the  while  the  sufferer  pro- 
testing that  great  pain  attended  his  every  move- 
ment, he  wisely  shook  his  head,  but  recommended 


78  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

that  the  patient  be  put  upon  a  diet  and  be  envel- 
oped in  cotton  batting  and  covered  carefully  with 
warm  woollen  blankets.  He  left  for  him  a  decoc- 
tion to  produce  a  profuse  sweating,  for  in  his  heart 
the  honest  old  doctor  thought  the  soldier  was 
shamming,  but  he  meant  to  give  him  something 
else  to  think  about  beside  rheumatic  pains. 

The  weather  being  warm,  the  condition  of  the 
would-be  sick  man  was  by  no  means  an  enviable 
one.  But  he  was  in  for  it,  and  Henry  felt  he  could 
afford  to  bear  a  little  discomfort  in  the  hope  of  get- 
ting at  last  free  from  the  army,  and  he  determined 
that  he  would  never  make  an  attempt  to  walk  until 
he  held  his  discharge  in  his  hand,  and  then  he  could 
laugh  in  the  face  of  those  in  authority  over  him.  So 
days  went  by  and  Henry  still  lingered  in  the  hos- 
pital apparently  not  getting  any  better. 

He  had  written  of  his  condition  to  his  father, 
and  had  urged  upon  him  to  procure  a  discharge  for 
him  if  possible  to  do  so,  and  the  fond  old  father,  be- 
lieving his  son  to  be  really  in  great  distress,  exerted 
all  his  powers  to  secure  for  Henry  the  much  desired 
discharge.  First  he  applied  to  Judge  Preston  to 
use  his  influence,  but  strange  to  say,  the  always 
obliging  Judge  did  not  seem  to  manifest  any  inter- 
est in  the  matter. 


THE    LONELY    PICKET.  79 

The  member  of  Congress  from  ,that  district 
was  next  applied  to,  but  as  he  had  shortly  before 
interested  himself  in  securing  for  the  Squire  the 
post-office,  he  felt  that  just  then  his  influence  might 
be  somewhat  impaired.  However,  with  a  politic- 
ian's usual  diplomacy,  he  put  the  father  off  with 
the  promise  that  he  would  see  what  he  could  do. 
This  the  fond  parent  wrote  to  his  son  and  Henry, 
hanging  upon  this  slender  thread  of  promise,  still 
kept  up  the  show  of  great  pain  while  he  watched 
and  waited  for  the  much  wished  for  discharge. 

It  was  during  his  stay  in  the  hospital  that  Henry 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  strange  character  that 
had  been  brought  into  the  same  ward  in  which  he 
lay  and  placed  upon  the  cot  next  to  him.  This 
man  had  been  wounded  by  a  bayonet  thrust,  re- 
ceived in  an  attempt  to  pass  the  guard  without  a 
permit.  He  had  been  lounging  about  the  camp  for 
some  time.  No  one  appeared  to  know  where  he 
came  from,  nor  did  he  seem  connected  with  any 
part  of  the  army,  merely  a  camp  follower.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  a  harmless  sort  of  a  person,  always 
willing  to  do  turns  for  the  officers  at  headquarters, 
around  which  he  passed  most  of  his  time.  How- 
ever, it  was  noticed  that  every  now  and  then  he  ab- 
sented himself,  but  it  was  always  for  only  a  brief  pe- 


8O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

riod,  so  no  investigation  of  his  conduct  was  made. 
He  never  was  talkative,  but  always  seemed  to  be 
quietly  observant.  There  was  at  one  time  a  slight 
suspicion  that  he  might  be  in  camp  for  a  purpose, 
but  this  had  been  dismissed  until  his  late  attempt 
to  force  a  passage  of  the  guard.  Then  it  was  de- 
cided that  a  court  of  investigation  be  held  just  as 
soon  as  he  was  able  to  be  removed  from  the  hos- 
pital. 

This  man  lying  so  close  to  the  discontented 
Henry  soon  made  his  acquaintance  and  learned  of 
his  disgust  of  army  life  and  his  actual  indifference 
as  to  the  success  of  the  Union  arms.  He  further 
learned  that  Henry's  affliction  was  assumed,  for  the 
purpose  of  procuring  a  discharge,  which  he  assured 
his  auditor  would  surely  come  as  he  had  a  letter 
from  home  promising  him  political  influenece. 

It  was  then  the  wounded  man  in  confidence  re- 
vealed to  Henry  his  true  identity.  He  was  in  the 
role  of  a  spy,  gathering  his  information  and  plac- 
ing it  in  the  hands  of  a  trusty  messenger  outside  the 
lines,  who  being  mounted,  quickly  carried  it  to  the 
Confederate  forces,  while  the  spy  would  return  to 
camp,  his  short  absence  not  being  suspected  as 
amounting  to  anything. 

It  was  upon  one  of  these  excursions  that  he  had 


THE   LONELY   PICKET.  8 1 

received  the  wound  which  was  now  nearly  healed. 
He  said  that  he  feared  an  investigation  might  be 
made  after  he  would  leave  the  hospital  and  he  was 
in  doubt  whether  he  could  satisfy  the  officers  re- 
garding his  actions. 

Henry  had  been  thinking  a  great  deal  of  how 
he  might  get  even  with  Andrew  Bentley  before  he 
would  get  his  discharge,  which  he  still  hoped  would 
be  forthcoming,  when  a  fiendish  thought  came  to 
his  mind.  Why  not  use  this  man  to  accomplish  his 
evil  designs  upon  Bentley? 

He  accordingly  embraced  the  first  opportunity 
to  interview  the  spy,  for  such  we  must  now  call 
him.  Henry  found  him  quite  willing  to  enter  into 
any  conspiracy  that  would  benefit  himself  and  work 
injury  to  one  of  the  hated  Yankees.  The  spy  was 
given  a  description  of  Andrew  Bentley,  and  at  his 
earliest  convenience  he  was  to  go  over  to  the  camp 

of  the  Sixty Penna.  and  learn  to  know  the 

form  and  figure  of  his  proposed  victim  by  sight. 
He  was  to  learn  of  the  time  and  place  when  Andrew 
would  be  upon  picket  line.  Henry  agreed  to  pay 
a  handsome  price  for  the  capture  and  imprison- 
ment of  his  rival,  with  the  hope  that  he  might  not 
survive  the  horrible  prison  pens  of  the  South. 

He  further  urged  upon  the  spy  to  lose  no  op- 

6 


32  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

portunity  to  forever  silence  his  prisoner  if  he  should 
prove  troublesome.  The  compact  was  made  and 
in  a  short  time,  the  spy's  wound  having  healed,  he 
left  the  hospital. 

It  was  midnight  in  the  marshes  along  the  banks 
of  the  Rappahannock.  The  moon  struggling  be- 
hind heavy  clouds  emitted  but  a  faint  light.  Small 
objects  could  be  scarcely  outlined  at  even  a  short 
distance.  The  piping  of  the  frogs  in  the  swamp 
near  by  had  ceased,  and  naught  was  heard  but  the 
occasional  hoot  of  an  owl  in  a  distant  tree-top. 

A  soldier  with  his  musket  carelessly  extended 
across  his  shoulder,  paced  silently  to  and  fro  o'er 
his  lonely  beat.  Ever  and  anon  he  would  pause 
and  listen,  and  then  again  resume  his  walk. 

Reaching  the  stump  of  a  large  tree  that  had 
been  broken  off  half  way  up  by  one  of  the  fierce 
storms  which  had  lately  swept  over  that  region, 
felling  the  giants  of  the  forest  before  it,  the  soldier 
removing  his  musket  from  his  shoulder,  leaned 
against  the  broken  stump  in  silence.  His  mind 
was  resting  upon  scenes  far  from  those  around  him. 
His  thoughts  were  dwelling  just  then  upon  a  home 
scene  away  among  the  hills  of  Western  Pennsylva- 
nia. An  aged  father  and  a  silvery  haired  mother 
came  up  before  him  and  he  saw  them  in  memory's 


THE   LONELY   PICKET.  J  83 

vision  even  as  they  were  no  doubt  at  that  moment, 
locked  in  slumber's  embrace  in  their  own  peaceful 
home,  perhaps  dreaming  of  their  soldier  boy  away 
at  the  war. 

Then  a  vision  of  loveliness  came  up  in  fancy's 
dream  before  him  and  he  was  again  gazing  down 
into  the  liquid  orbs,  of  to  him,  the  fairest  maiden  in 
all  the  Northland,  and  he  pressed  his  hand  upon  the 
pocket  of  his  army  blouse  in  which  rested  his  moth- 
er's Bible  and  his  sweetheart's  last  letter  to  him. 

This  silent  reverie  might  have  continued  for 
some  time,  but  Andrew  Bentley,  for  such  the  reader 
has  no  doubt  recognized  the  lonely  picket  to  be, 
was  quickly  brought  back  to  his  present  surround- 
ings by  the  crackling  of  twigs  which  seemed  to 
emanate  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  broken 
tree-top. 

He  at  once  quickly  grasped  his  gun  and  pro- 
ceeded to  reconnoitre.  It  proved  to  be  only  an  old 
worn  out  army  mule  that  appeared  to  be  cropping 
the  buds  from  the  branches  of  the  fallen  tree-top. 

Andrew  waited  patiently,  while  he  closely 
watched  for  further  movements  of  his  quadruped 
visitor.  There  was  one  thing  that  puzzled  him: 
How  did  the  mule  get  there?  Surely  he  thought 
he  should  have  noticed  its  approach.  And  if  it  had 


84  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

been  there  when  he  made  his  other  round,  why  had 
he  not  noticed  it  before?  He  did  not  wish  to  draw 
upon  his  imagination,  but  surely  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  that  mule  at  one  time  asumed  a  stooping  pos- 
ture, which  he  had  never  known  the  old  mule  on 
his  father's  farm  to  attempt  to  do.  Now  it  may  be 
only  fancy,  but  did  he  not  see  the  glitter  of  some- 
thing like  polished  steel?  He  wished  the  moon- 
light might  be  only  a  little  brighter  so  he  could  see 
a  bit  clearer.  He  did  not  wish  to  fire  and  need- 
lessly alarm  the  guard,  but  he  had  heard  of  an  ap- 
proach to  lonely  pickets  by  animals  that  in  the  end 
did  not  prove  to  be  animals.  Surely  this  was  one 
of  the  long-eared  gentry  and  no  mistake,  but  then  it 
moves  awkwardly  for  a  mule.  It  must  be  badly 
crippled  and  broken  down,  and  if  so,  better  be  dead 
than  living  in  misery.  What  if  he  should  arouse 
the  guard?  He  could  easily  explain  the  matter, 
and  claim  the  light  was  uncertain. 

Andrew  had  no  sooner  reached  this  point  of  his 
reasoning  than  he  quickly  raised  his  musket,  took 
aim  and  fired.  He  felt  almost  certain  that  as  he 
took  a  hasty  aim  the  animal  appeared  to  be  in  a 
crouching  posture.  But  as  he  fired  there  seemed 
to  ring  out  on  the  night  air  a  cry  of  human  anguish. 
The  report  of  the  gun  disturbed  the  owl  in  his  re- 


THE  LONELY   PICKET.  8$ 

treat,  and  with  a  dismal  hoot  he  flapped  his  wings 
and  flew  farther  into  the  wood.  Waiting  a  moment 
for  the  smoke  from  his  piece,  which  hung  heavily 
in  the  damp  atmosphere,  to  clear  away,  Andrew 
cautiously  made  his  way  to  the  fallen  animal,  which 
seemed  to  be  in  its  death  throes. 

As  he  reached  its  side,  the  struggling  moon 
breaking  from  the  cloud  that  had  partly  obscured 
it,  now  beamed  forth  in  all  its  brilliancy,  lighting 
up  the  thicket,  and  revealing  toAndrew,  Oh,  hor- 
ror! not  a  dying  animal,  but  a  human  form  envel- 
oped within  the  mule  skin,  holding  in  one  hand  a 
murderous  looking  knife,  which  judging  from  his 
present  condition,  he  was  not  likely  to  use  much,  for 
as  Andrew  stooped  and  drew  aside  the  folds  of 
skin,  the  knife  dropped  and  the  man  clapping  both 
hands  to  his  side,  he  vainly  attempted  to  staunch 
the  flow  of  blood  which  issued  from  a  gaping  wound 
in  his  side,  made  by  the  bullet  from  Andrew's  mus- 
ket. 

The  wounded  man  was  making  a  heroic  strug- 
gle for  his  life,  and  the  soldier  seeing  this  gently 
withdrew  him  from  the  skin  which  surrounded  him, 
and  placed  him  in  a  more  comfortable  position, 
after  which  he  gave  him  a  draught  of  water  from 
his  canteen  which  seemed  to  revive  him  somewhat. 


86  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  Corporal  of  the  guard 
came  hurrying  up  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  alarm, 
which  Andrew  explained  to  him. 

The  Corporal  at  once  recognized  in  the  form  of 
the  prostrate  man  the  individual  who  had  attempted 
at  a  previous  time  to  force  his  way  past  the  guard, 
from  whom  he  had  received  the  bayonet  wound 
which  had  sent  him  to  the  hospital.  He  mentioned 
this  to  Andrew  who,  taking  a  closer  survey  of  the 
man's  features,  recognized  him  as  the  one  he  had 
seen  loitering  around  the  Colonel's  headquarters 
only  a  short  time  before,  but  at  the  time  had  given 
him  no  further  thought. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do,  Corporal?"  said 
Andrew.  "We  are  quite  a  distance  from  the  hos- 
pital, and  this  poor  fellow  is  sadly  in  need  of  atten- 
tion." He  had  stooped,  and  with  his  handkerchief 
was  trying  to  stay  the  flow  of  the  poor  fellow's  life- 
blood.  "It  is  almost  an  hour  before  the  relief  guard 
will  be  around  and  he  will  suffer  much  in  that  time, 
perhaps  die." 

The  wounded  spy  looked  up  with  amazement  at 
the  show  of  compassion  in  the  man  whom  he  had 
been  hired  to  capture  or  kill.  And  here  he  was 
talking  about  trying  to  save  him  from  unnecessary 
suffering.  True,  he  had  fallen  through  the  uner- 


THE   LONELY   PICKET.  8/ 

ring  aim  of  the  picket,  but  such  were  the  fates  of 
war.  He  further  realized  that  he  had  received  a 
mortal  wound  and  had  not  long  to  live. 

He  beckoned  for  them  both  to  draw  near. 
They  did  so  and  knelt  upon  the  dewy  grass  at  his 
side.  He  motioned  for  another  drink  from  the 
canteen,  which  Andrew  hastened  to  give  him,  rais- 
ing him  up  a  little  so  he  could  rest  easier.  And  then 
they  heard  from  lips  growing  fast  pale  with  the  ashy 
hue  of  death,  a  dying  confession. 

"Boys,  there  aint  no  use  doin'  anything  for  me. 
I'm  pretty  near  a  goner.  Just  let  me  die  and  be 
buried  here.  Old  Virginia's  soil  is  a  good  enough 
resting  place  for  any  son  of  the  sunny  South.  But 
I  did  hope  to  have  them  lay  this  worthless  hulk  of 
mine  along  side  my  kindred  in  the  old  burying- 
ground  on  the  banks  of  the  Brazos." 

He  was  a  Texan  and  belonged  to  that  famous 
organization  known  as  the  Texas  Rangers. 

That  he  was  a  spy  he  did  not  deny,  but  his 
work  was  done.  Why  he  was  there,  at  that  time 
and  place,  he  wanted  to  tell  them  before  he  died. 

Andrew  seeing  his  strength  failing,  and  his 
voice  growing  husky,  hastened  to  moisten  his  lips 
with  the  remaining  water  in  the  canteen.  Then 
with  a  great  effort  and  in  broken  sentences  the 


88  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

dying  Texan  related  his  meeting  with  Henry  Wil- 
liams in  the  hospital,  and  Henry's  confession  of  his 
dislike  for  the  service  and  his  pretended  illness  in 
order  to  secure  a  discharge. 

The  dying  man,  feeling  he  ought  to  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it,  revealed  all  of  the  plot.  How  he 
was  to  capture  Andrew  Bentley  on  the  picket  line 
and  carry  him  off  to  a  Southern  Prison,  and  in  event 
of  a  prospective  rescue  or  escape,  to  not  hesitate  to 
take  his  life,  and  thus  win  a  large  reward  from 
Henry  Williams.  Andrew,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing with  intense  interest  to  this  recital,  which  so 
much  concerned  himself,  now  started  to  his  feet, 
exclaiming:  "What!  Henry  Williams,  my  fellow 
schoolmate,  plotting  to  take  my  life?  Impossible ! 
I  know  of  no  reason  for  it ;  I  never  did  him  an  un- 
kindness  in  my  life;  I  cannot  believe  it!  Surely 
you  must  be  mistaken." 

The  dying  man  lifted  his  fast  glazing  eyes  to- 
ward Andrew.  "I  swear  by  the  God  of  my  fathers 
I  have  not  lied  to  you ;  but  I  was  a  fool  to  accept  his 
bribe,  for  what  is  his  gold  compared  to  my  life. 
And  to  die  in  this  manner ;  I  had  hoped  that  if  death 
came  to  me,  it  would  be  on  the  battlefield  close  to 
the  Bonnie  Blue  flag  of  the  Southern  Confederacy. 
I  am  glad  that  my  little  girl — will — never — know 


THE    LONELY    PICKET.  89 

— how — her — old — dad "  He  was  not  per- 
mitted to  finish  the  sentence  for  a  rush  of  crimson 
blood  burst  from  his  mouth,  and  with  a  quiver  he 
fell  back  dead,  and  lay  with  wide-open  eyes,  as 
though  trying  to  pierce  through  the  long  distance 
that  lay  between  him  and  his  loved  ones  in  the  Lone 
Star  State. 

With  a  feeling  of  sadness  they  placed  the  bat- 
tered hide,  within  which  he  had  met  his  death 
wound,  over  his  lifeless  body,  and  Andrew  resum- 
ing his  neglected  vigil,  he  was  ere  long  relieved  by 
a  change  of  guard. 

He  puzzled  his  brain  to  conjecture  the  motive 
Henry  Williams  had  for  wishing  him  out  of  the 
way.  That  he  did  so,  was  clearly  patent  to  his 
mind,  but  for  what  reason  he  was  at  a  loss  to  know. 

Andrew  had  no  thought  that  he  was  a  possible 
rival  of  Henry's,  for  Annie  had  never  at  any  time 
mentioned  to  him  that  Henry  was  a  suitor  for  her 
hand.  He  did  not  deem  it  best  to  make  any  charge 
against  Henry  who  was  still  in  the  hospital.  He 
decided  to  patiently  abide  his  time ;  but  he  had  a 
confidential  interview  with  the  Colonel  of  Henry's 
regiment. 

We  are  not  prepared  to  say  what  passed  in  that 
interview.  This  we  do  know,  that  the  next  day 


9O  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

the  Captain  of  Henry's  company  received  notice 
from  his  superior  officer  to  see  that  Private  Wil- 
liams, now  in  the  hospital,  be  returned  to  the  ranks, 
and  it  was  with  considerable  surprise  and  no  little 
chagrin  that  Henry  found  himself  unceremoniously 
hustled  out  of  the  hospital  and  back  into  the  ranks 
where  the  story  of  his  pretended  affliction  getting 
out,  he  was  constantly  guyed  by  his  comrades  who 
dubbed  him  "Old  Roomatix,"  which  name  never 
left  him  while  he  remained  in  the  army. 


ON   TO   GETTYSBURG — COWARDICE  9 1 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ON  TO  GETTYSBURG— COWARDICE. 

LL  was  activity  within  the   Union   lines. 
Orders  had  been  issued  for  the  different 
branches  (Artillery,  Infantry  and  Caval- 
ry) to  be  ready  for  a  forced  march.  Ra- 
tions had  been  issued,   camp   equipage 
had  been  loaded  into  the  army  wagons,  ordnance 
brought  up,  and  ere  long  there  was  a  steady  stream 
of  men,  horses  and  wagons  pouring  Northward. 

That  division  of  the  Army  Corps,  in  which  the 
characters  in  our  story  marched,  crossed  the  Poto- 
mac near  Point  of  Rocks,  and  pursued  their  course 
Northward  through  Maryland ;  passing  close  by 
the  battle  ground  of  Antietam,  they  soon  crossed 
the  boundary  line  and  were  treading  the  soil  of  the 
Keystone  state. 

It  had  now  become  pretty  well  known  through- 
out the  ranks  why  the  army  was  hurrying  North- 
ward. Rumors  had  reached  them  of  Lee's  invas- 
ion of  Pennsylvania,  and  all  sorts  of  stories  were 


92  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

rife.  Some  went  to  say  that  his  objective  point  was 
to  lay  Philadelphia  in  ashes  and  move  on  to  the  de- 
struction of  New  York  City.  These  rumors  only 
served  to  lend  strength  and  energy  to  the  march- 
ing Union  host  in  order  to  cross  his  path  and  inter- 
cept the  inroad  of  the  rebel  horde. 

On  they  marched,  only  pausing  now  and  again 
for  a  short  resting  spell.  Many  of  the  boys  in  blue 
with  the  true  characteristics  of  a  soldier,  immedi- 
ately set  about  starting  a  little  fire  over  which  was 
placed  the  familiar  black  tin  cup,  for  the  purpose  of 
making  that  panacea  for  a  tired  soldier,  namely,  a 
cup  of  coffee.  But  often  times  before  the  task  was 
completed,  or  the  odor  of  the  fragrant  coffee 
greeted  the  olfactories  of  the  waiting  soldier,  the 
command  was  given,  "Form  ranks!  Attention! 
Route  step !  March !"  and  file  after  file  moved  on- 
ward. The  soldier  oft  times  carrying  his  coffee  cup 
in  his  hand  sipping  of  its  contents  as  he  marched. 

Everywhere  the  inhabitants  of  the  section 
through  which  they  were  passing  came  out  and 
greeted  them  warmly,  for  they  were  not  marching 
through  an  enemy's  country,  and  within  the  ranks 
of  the  passing  host  were  fathers  and  brothers  of 
many  a  Northern  home  circle. 

Away  on  their  left  rose  the  ridges  of  the  Blue 


ON    TO    GETTYSBURG — COWARDICE.  9$ 

Mountains,  darkly  outlined  against  the  clear  June 
sky.  Hark !  What's  that  which  comes  to  the  ear 
of  the  soldier? 

It  sounds  like  the  heavy  roll  of  distant  thunder, 
but  the  practiced  ear  recognizes  in  the  deep  rum- 
bling the  sound  of  heavy  artillery  firing,  and  he 
knows  at  once  'tis  the  boom  of  the  Union  guns, 
checking  the  advance  of  Lee. 

At  once  a  ringing  cheer  bursts  forth,  caps  are 
tossed  high  in  the  air,  swords  are  waved  and  even 
the  artillery  horses  recognizing  the  familiar  sound, 
pricked  up  their  ears,  neighed,  and  with  arching 
necks  pranced  along  apparently  eager  for  the  fray, 
while  by  a  happy  thought  the  band  strikes  up  that 
patriotic  air,  "Rally  round  the  flag,  boys,"  and 
throughout  the  long  line  of  marchers  comes  a 
quicker,  firmer  step,  as  they  press  forward.  All 
the  while  the  roar  of  the  cannon  on  the  heights 
around  Gettysburg  growing  more  clear  and  dis- 
tinct. The  shades  of  evening  gather,  but  no  orders 
are  issued  to  go  into  camp  for  the  night.  Only  a 
short  halt  is  made  to  enable  the  horses  to  get  a  feed 
of  oats,  and  the  soldier  to  make  his  black  coffee  to 
moisten  the  hard  tack  found  in  his  haversack. 

Soon  the  bugle  call  is  sounded,  and  the  vast 
throng  moves  on.  Many  a  soldier  boy  of  that  gal- 


94  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

lant  army  ready  to  sink  with  exhaustion,  but  on 
they  go ;  the  one  consuming  desire  of  both  officers 
and  men  is  to  reach  the  scene  of  conflict  which  was 
now  being  waged  around  the  quaint  old  town  pre- 
viously mentioned,  and  which  ever  since  has  been 
made  famous  in  history. 

Reports  have  now  come  to  the  advancing  col- 
umn that  the  First  Corps,  under  the  gallant  Rey- 
nolds, has  been  all  day  contesting  the  advance  of 
the  legions  of  Lee  on  Seminary  Ridge.  Later 
came  the  sad  news  of  the  death  of  this  brave  officer, 
who  poured  out  his  life's  blood  in  the  gallant  de- 
fense of  his  own  State. 

As  the  battle  of  Gettysburg  has  been  so  often 
graphically  described,  we  will  not  enter  into  an  ac- 
count of  it,  more  than  to  relate  the  part  taken  by 
those  with  whom  our  story  has  to  deal. 

The  regiment  in  which  Andrew  Bentley  and  his 
companions  served,  as  well  as  the  one  in  which 
Henry  Williams  was  forced  to  march — much 
against  his  will — being  thrown  closely  together, 
they  participated  largely  in  the  same  scenes  of  bat- 
tle. 

About  midnight  they  arrived  upon  the  field, 
and  a  halt  was  called,  the  men  lying  down  upon 
their  arms  in  the  attempt  to  snatch  a  few  hours 


ON  TO  GETTYSBURG — COWARDICE.  9$ 

rest  before  the  coming  dawn.  The  last  sleep  for 
many  a  poor  soldier  boy  before  he  slept  "the  sleep 
that  knows  no  waking." 

At  an  early  hour  the  reveille  was  sounded,  fol- 
lowed soon  by  the  call  to  arms.  The  soldier  not 
having  time  to  make  a  fire,  hastily  swallowed  such 
food  as  he  had  remaining  in  his  haversack,  munch- 
ing it  as  he  fell  into  line.  As  they  advanced,  evi- 
dences of  the  havoc  wrought  by  the  implements  of 
war  the  preceding  day  were  noticeable  in  the  for- 
est trees  that  had  been  cut  and  perforated  by  the 
flying  shot  and  shell,  and  soon  the  ground  about 
them  showed  plainly  how  fierce  the  contest  had 
been  for  the  supremacy.  All  about  them  lay  the 
bodies  of  the  slain. 

"Friend  and  foe  in  one  red  burial  blent." 
Dead  horses  and  broken  down  artillery,  cais- 
sons, mingled  with  the  soldier  dead  of  both  sides. 

To  many,  this  was  a  familiar  sight,  but  to  Henry 
Williams  who  had  never  even  seen  a  battlefield,  or 
taken  part  in  a  conflict,  the  sight  of  so  much  de- 
struction of  life  completely  un-nerved  him,  and  he 
felt  that  if  he  were  back  home  he  would  not  risk  the 
chances  he  was  now  obliged  to  take  for  a  mortgage 
on  all  the  frams  in  old  Westmoreland  County ;  but 


90  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

here  he  was,  and  to  use  a  common  expression,  "in 
for  it,"  though  he  inwardly  quaked  with  fear. 

Shortly  after  they  commenced  to  move,  the 
column  passed  through  long  lines  of  soldiers  who 
were  resting  after  their  conflict  of  the  day  before ; 
many  of  them  still  locked  in  slumber,  but  those  who 
were  stirring,  cheered  them  loudly  for  they  had 
been  almost  alone  in  the  fight  of  the  preceding  day, 
reinforcements  not  having  reached  them  until  after 
the  battle  had  ceased  with  the  coming  of  night. 
The  wounded  had  been  hastily  gathered  to  the  im- 
provised "Field  Hospital,"  and  here  the  surgeons 
were  busily  at  work,  while  the  groans  of  the  suffer- 
ers were  enough  to  strike  terror  to  the  bravest 
heart. 

The  marching  column  passed  on,  and  soon  de- 
bouched across  the  open  plain,  to  the  piece  of 
ground  lying  at  the  foot  of  Round  Top.  Here  the 
command  prepared  to  go  into  action,  and  a  detail 
being  made  to  guard  some  of  the  effects  they  could 
not  well  carry  into  battle.  It  was  Harry  Williams' 
happy  lot  to  be  among  those  selected  and  thus  it 
was  that  he  escaped  the  terrible  fighting  that 
shortly  took  place  in  what  was  known  to  the  soldier 
at  that  time  as  "The  Wheat  Field"  and  "Sherfy's 
Peach  Orchard,"  and  it  was  here  the  Union  army 
suffered  the  loss  of  many  brave  men. 


ON   TO   GETTYSBURG — COWARDICE.  97 

Our  friends  from  N passed  through  it 

unscathed,  though  many  a  gallant  lad  was  forced  to 
bite  the  dust. 

Later  in  the  day  the  entire  brigade  was  drawn 
from  this  part  of  the  field,  and  sent  to  the  vicinity 
of  what  is  known  as  "Gulp's  Hill"  to  support  the 
batteries  there.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Henry's 
regiment  was  ordered  to  charge,  and  if  possible,  dis- 
lodge a  body  of  the  enemy  that  had  been  pouring 
a  galling  fire  upon  the  famous  Knapp's  Battery, 
and  picking  off  the  gunners  so  they  could  with  dif- 
ficulty man  the  guns. 

Now  was  coming  a  critical  time  in  the  life  of 
one  man  who  had  already  shown  his  dislike  for  war 
and  carnage ;  but  watching  every  place  for  a  loop 
hole  of  escape,  Henry  was  borne  unconsciously  on- 
ward. At  this  juncture  the  battery  poured  forth  its 
final  volley  prior  to  the  advance  of  the  infantry, 
and  it  was  under  cover  of  the  smoke  from  the  guns 
that  the  charge  was  made.  "Steady  men!"  came 
the  clear  command  from  the  old  white  haired  Col- 
onel of  the  regiment,  followed  by  "Charge  Bayo- 
nets !"  And  then  burst  forth  a  wild  ringing  cheer 
from  the  command  as  they  dashed  forward  through 
the  protecting  clouds  of  smoke.  Here  was  Henry's 
long  looked  for  opportunity. 

7 


98  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

The  cowardly  instinct  of  the  man  always  pre- 
dominant, now  asserted  itself  and  he  no  sooner  be- 
came enveloped  in  the  smoke  from  the  guns  of  the 
battery,  and  thus  hidden  for  a  short  time  from  the 
sight  of  his  comrades,  than  Henry  Williams  threw 
aside  his  musket  and  made  his  way  rapidly  back 
towards  the  rear.  What  cared  he  whether  his 
comrades  would  be  successful  in  the  charge  or  not? 
All  principle  of  honor  was  lost  in  him. 

Henry  found  it  a  hard  matter  to  keep  clear  of 
soldiers,  with  which  the  wood  seemed  to  be  full, 
moving  about  singly,  stragglers  like  himself,  or  in 
small  groups,  some  without  any  officer  in  com- 
mand, and  others  in  charge  of  a  sergeant  or  cor- 
poral as  it  might  happen. 

In  coming  out  of  some  low  underbrush,  Henry 
almost  came  in  contact  with  one  of  the  latter.  It 
was  a  considerable  sized  body  of  men  under  charge 
of  a  burly  red  faced  sergeant.  Henry  had  barely 
time  to  seek  a  hiding  place  beneath  a  projecting 
rock  as  the  body  of  infantry  passed  by.  It  was  well 
for  him  he  did  so,  for  in  the  sergeant  and  group  of 
guards  he  recognized  members  of  his  own  company 
who  were  escorting  a  group  of  gray  coated  soldiers 
to  the  rear. 

Henry  finding  his  hiding  place  a  good  retreat, 


ON   TO    GETTYSBURG COWARDICE.  QQ 

concluded  to  remain  where  he  was  until  the  wood 
was  cleared  of  the  soldiery.  All  that  long  after- 
noon the  cannon  shook  the  hills  with  its  incessant 
roar,  while  the  roll  of  the  musketry  came  in  like  an 
organ  accompaniment. 

From  his  hiding  place  Henry  could  see  that  the 
lines  of  gray  were  being  gradually  pressed  back 
over  the  sloping  hillside,  and  ever  and  again  came 
up  the  ringing  cheer  of  the  boys  in  blue  as  they 
carried  some  hard  contested  point.  But  all  these 
sounds  of  strife  only  added  to  the  terror  which 
reigned  within  him,  and  he  crept  further  beneath 
the  overhanging  rock.  All  this  time,  his  regiment 
was  led  on  by  its  Lieutenant  Colonel,  for  the  sil- 
very haired  commander  of  the  regiment  had  fallen 
early  in  the  charge  made  to  protect  the  battery,  and 
now  lay  upon  the  sloping  hillside  utterly  oblivious 
to  all  the  sounds  of  war. 

Everywhere  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight  they 
rushed,  privates  as  well  as  officers,  covering  them- 
selves with  glory  and  honor. 

During  a  lull  in  the  conflict,  the  shattered  parts 
of  the  command  pulled  itself  together,  and  then  it 
was  first  able  to  realize  the  loss.  Many  brave  men 
had  gone  down  in  the  charge,  and  as  Private  Wil- 
liams was  among  the  missing  in  his  company,  it 


IOO  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

was  supposed  he  was  either  dead  or  had  been  taken 
prisoner. 

But  how  was  it  going  with  our  boys  in  the 

neighboring  regiment?  The  gallant  Sixty 

Penna.,  had  come  in  for  its  full  share  of  the  battle. 
Andrew  Bentley  had  gone  wherever  his  regiment 
went,  not  a  soldier  in  his  company  knew  him  to 
falter,  always  acting  with  the  same  calm  precision. 

His  escape  from  the  rain  of  bullets  seemed  mi- 
raculous, for  comrades  had  fallen  upon  his  right 
and  his  left,  either  dead  or  badly  wounded.  It  was 
after  the  roar  of  battle  had  ceased  that  Andrew  met 
with  quite  an  adventure.  In  the  dusk  of  the  eve- 
ning, he  was  looking  over  that  part  of  the  field 
where  his  regiment  had  participated,  in  hopes  that 
if  he  found  any  of  his  wounded  comrades,  he  could 
render  them  some  assistance. 

It  was  in  the  fulfillment  of  this  labor  of  love  that 
Andrew  came  across  one  of  his  mess-mates  badly 
wounded.  The  poor  fellow  begged  for  a  drink  of 
water;  but  Andrew  having  given  all  the  water  in 
his  canteen  to  a  rebel  officer  whom  he  had  found 
mortally  wounded,  he  was  obliged  to  visit  a  brook 
which  ran  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  in  order  to  replenish 
his  store.  So  taking  the  canteen  of  his  wounded 
comrade,  which  was  also  empty,  he  proceeded  to 


ON   TO    GETTYSBURG COWARDICE.  IOI 

refill  them.  As  he  was  wending  his  way  back  up 
the  steep  hillside  he  noticed  an  overhanging  por- 
tion of  rock,  underneath  which  he  fancied  he  saw 
some  portion  of  a  uniform.  He  continued  on  his 
way  back  to  the  wounded  soldier,  and  after  giving 
him  a  draught  of  water  and  propping  him  up 
against  a  fallen  tree,  he  placed  the  soldier's  canteen 
where  he  could  conveniently  reach  it.  He  then 
slung  his  own  drinking  vessel  across  his  shoulder, 
and  taking  his  musket,  made  his  way  back  to  the 
rock,  under  which  he  had  seen  something  that 
had  aroused  suspicion. 

Placing  his  musket  against  the  boulder,  he 
stooped  down  and  peered  under  it.  "Some  poor 
unfortunate  who  has  been  wounded  and  crawled 
in  here  to  die/'  he  murmured  to  himself.  "And  a 
Union  soldier,  too/'  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  por- 
tion of  the  limb  clothed  in  blue.  "Possibly  he  may 
not  be  dead  and  may  need  assistance,"  and  with 
this,  Andrew  seized  hold  of  that  portion  exposed 
and  gave  a  strong  pull.  But  the  body  did  not 
yield,  for  the  supposed  wounded  man  had  taken  a 
firm  hold  upon  a  projecting  part  of  the  rock,  and 
was  doing  his  best  to  resist  a  withdrawal.  "Must 
be  wedged  in  pretty  tight,"  muttered  Andrew,  so 
taking  a  fresh  hold  and  throwing  his  strength  into 


1O2  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

the  effort,  he  gave  a  vigorous  tug,  when  to  his  sur- 
prise (the  incumbent's  hold  giving  way),  out  came 
the  body  with  so  much  suddenness  that  Andrew 
relaxing  his  hold  staggered  backward  down  the 
hill  and  ere  he  was  aware  he  turned  a  backward 
somersault  over  a  log  that  lay  in  his  way. 

He  hastily  regained  his  feet  to  find  the  sol- 
dier, whom  he  had  so  forcibly  extracted,  standing 
with  the  musket  he  had  lately  placed  against  the 
rock,  in  the  position  of  charging  bayonets.  Their 
recognition  was  mutual. 

"What!  Henry  Williams!  as  I  live!"  exclaimed 
Andrew. 

"Take  that!"  cried  the  infuriated  Henry,  who, 
goaded  to  desperation,  and  seeing  his  rival  un- 
armed, made  a  vicious  thrust  with  the  bayonet  at 
the  breast  of  the  man  before  him.  Andrew  made 
a  backward  motion  and  again  a  second  time,  per- 
formed a  retrograde  movement  over  the  log  be- 
hind him. 

The  fall  this  time  no  doubt  saved  his  life,  for  not 
meeting  with  any  resistance  and  impelled  for- 
ward by  his  own  movement,  the  hill  at  that  place 
being  quite  steep,  Henry  plouted  forward,  going 
over  the  same  log,  falling  heavily  upon  Andrew, 
while  the  musket  slipping  from  his  hands,  went 
sliding  down  the  steep  decline. 


ON   TO   GETTYSBURG — COWARDICE.  1 03 

And  now  took  place  a  struggle  in  the  wooded 
slope  back  of  Cemetery  Hill  no  historian  has  ever 
yet  recorded,  in  a  description  of  that  famous  battle. 

It  was  a  struggle  for  the  supremacy.  Not  with 
the  usual  implements  of  war,  but  a  pitting  of  mus- 
cle against  muscle.  Andrew  realizing  full  well 
the  murderous  intent  of  his  adversary,  at  once 
grappled  with  him,  and  over  and  over  they  rolled 
down  the  hillside,  now  Henry  having  Andrew  on 
his  back,  and  in  a  few  seconds  it  was  vice-versa, 
for  both  were  powerful  men,  though  if  there  was 
any  advantage  it  lay  with  Andrew ;  but  Henry  was 
nerved  to  desperation,  for  he  had  learned  of  the 
death  of  the  spy,  and  had  heard  he  had  made  a  dy- 
ing confession,  and  he  felt  that  no  doubt  Andrew 
was  aware  of  his  perfidy. 

The  struggle  was  a  short  one,  but  fierce  while  it 
lasted.  It  was  a  grappling  of  each  other's  throats 
in  silence.  No  flash  of  powder  or  noise  of  explo- 
sion. And  thus  they  continued  until  well  nigh 
down  the  incline,  when  fortune  seemed  to  favor  our 
hero.  A  huge  oak  coming  in  their  way  arrested 
the  progress  of  their  continuous  revolutions,  and 
Andrew  being  uppermost  took  a  quick  advantage 
of  his  contestant  by  delivering  him  a  telling  blow 
upon  the  temple,  which  rendered  Henry  for  the 


IO4  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

time  "  hers  du  combat?  Then  Andrew  hastily 
tearing  the  strap  from  his  canteen,  he  pinioned  his 
opponent's  hands  securely  behind  his  back,  and 
awaited  his  return  to  consciousness.  It  was  not 
long  before  his  vanquished  opponent  opened  his 
eyes  and  glared  up  into  the  face  of  his  rival  with  a 
look  of  intense  hatred. 

{  "So  this  is  the  way  you  fight  the  battles  for  the 
preservation  of  our  glorious  Union?"  said  Andrew, 
with  some  show  of  feeling.  Henry  glared  sullen- 
ly at  his  foe,  but  made  no  reply.  "Get  up,  you 
cowardly  dog !"  said  Andrew,  and  stooping  he  laid 
hold  of  Henry  and  assisted  him  to  his  feet,  with  no 
gentle  hand.  Then  keeping  a  firm  grip  upon  his 
man,  they  slowly  ascended  the  hill. 

Andrew,  after  securing  possession  of  his  mus- 
ket, marched  his  captive  over  to  where  the  officer 
commanding  Henry's  regiment  had  improvised  an 
impromptu  headquarters.  He  saluted  him,  and 
relating  in  brief,  how  he  had  found  his  prisoner,  he 
turned  him  over  to  the  officer,  who  promptly  order- 
ed Henry  to  be  placed  under  arrest,  until  he  had 
more  time  to  give  a  consideration  of  his  case.  Then 
inviting  Andrew  to  a  seat  beside  him  upon  a  fallen 
tree,  he  Heard  his  story  more  in  detail,  while  Hen- 
ry was  marched  off  to  where  some  Confederate 
prisoners  were  kept  under  a  strong  guard. 


ON   TO   GETTYSBURG COWARDICE.  1O$ 

Andrew,  after  finishing  his  story,  took  his  leave 
of  the  officer,  and  made  his  way  to  the  side  of  the 
wounded  friend  from  whom  he  had  now  been  ab- 
sent for  some  time. 

He  finally  reached  his  friend,  only  to  find  that 
another  brave  spirit  had  gone  out  with  the  closing 
hours  of  the  day's  conflict.  He  tenderly  composed 
the  limbs  of  the  dead  soldier,  writing  his  name, 
company  and  regiment  upon  a  card,  which  he 
pinned  to  his  blouse,  then  spreading  his  blanket 
over  him,  with  a  sad  heart  proceeded  to  look  up 
the  burial  squad. 

As  our  hero  made  his  way  back  to  his  comrades, 
he  could  not  help  drawing  a  comparison  that  was 
far  from  being  a  pleasant  one.  First  his  thoughts 
dwelt  upon  the  gallant  soul  just  passed  away  in  the 
prime  of  life,  before  he  could  learn  of  the  result  of 
the  conflict  that  was  now  being  waged  upon  the 
soil  of  his  own  native  State.  Then  he  thought  of 
that  other  son  of  the  Keystone  State,  who  had 
shown  such  dastardly  cowardice  at  a  time  when 
valor  was  so  much  needed. 

The  battle  was  resumed  the  next  day  along  the 
slopes  of  Cemetery  Ridge,  which  to  this  day  shows 
evidence  of  how  they  fought  and  fell. 

In  the  afternoon  at  the  close  of  one  of  the  most 


IO6  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

gigantic  artillery  duels  history  has  ever  recorded, 
that  famous  charge  of  Pickett's  Division  was  made, 
led  on  by  the  intrepid  Longstreet.  Other  writers 
have  graphically  described  it.  All  we  know  is 
that  onward  they  marched,  while 
"Cannon  in  front  of  them  volleyed  and  thundered ; 

Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell." 
but  all  without  avail.     Stannards'   Vermont   Bri- 
gade was  there  in  the  center  to  meet  them  and  like 
the  "Green  Mountain  Boys"  of  old,  they  stood  their 
ground. 

Over  on  their  left,  Hancock,  "The  Superb" 
stood  like  a  lion  at  bay.  While  on  the  right  the 
gallant  Hays  and  Coulter,  with  a  determined  front 
met  the  enemy's  advance.  It  was  here  the  old 

Sixty regiment  in  which  Andrew  Bentley 

and  his  comrades  from  N served,  performed 

prodigies  of  valor. 

The  conflict  ended  with  the  close  of  day,  and 
Lee  with  the  crushed  remnant  of  a  once  glorious 
army  made  his  way  back  toward  the  Potomac, 
leaving  behind  the  flower  of  the  South,  for  thous- 
ands had  laid  down  their  lives  in  the  vain  attempt 
to  take  the  crest  of  Cemetery  Ridge  and  the 
heights  of  Round  Top. 

We  cannot  refrain  at  this   point  from  a  brief 


ON   TO    GETTYSBURG — COWARDICE.  IO? 

reference  to  the  master  hand  that  held  the  reins  of 
battle  on  the  Union  side. 

We  refer  to  the  unostentatious  Meade,  whose 
powers  of  generalship  were  pitted  against  the 
most  notable  general  of  all  the  entire  Confedera- 
cy. Only  a  short  time  before  this  memorable  bat- 
tle he  had  succeeded  to  that  post  in  which  Hooker, 
Burnside  and  Pope  had  failed,  and  in  which  Mc- 
Clelland had  achieved  but  a  doubtful  and  checkered 
success.  His  well  seasoned  advice  faithfully  car- 
ried out,  won  for  him  the  battle. 

True,  it  cost  the  life  of  the  gallant  Reynolds  in 
the  wood  back  of  Seminary  Ridge,  and  that  of  the 
heroic  Vincent  and  Weed,  on  the  heights  of  Round 
Top,  while  Hancock  defending  the  onslaught 
against  Cemetery  Ridge,  received  the  wound  which 
almost  cost  him  his  life,  and  the  brave  Sickles  left 
a  leg  on  the  battlefield,  besides  a  countless  throng 
of  others,  just  as  brave  in  battle  as  their  superiors. 
Notwithstanding  his  admirable  support,  this  was 
one  battle  in  which  the  commander-in-chief  led  his 
troops  in  person,  and  in  no  other  battle  of  the  war 
was  there  such  a  loss  of  high  ranking  officers.  No 
less  than  four  being  killed  outright,  and  as  high  as 
twelve  receiving  wounds,  of  those  serving  on  the 
Union  side. 


IO8  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Critics  have  censured  Meade  for  not  ordering 
an  immediate  pursuit  of  Lee.  He  did  not  deem  it 
best  to  be  too  precipitate,  as  his  army  was  worn 
and  weary.  For  almost  a  fortnight  they  had  done 
nothing  else  but  march  and  fight,  and  the  soldiers 
had  in  the  meantime  but  little  opportunity  to  rest 
and  refresh  the  inner  man.  Then  again  the  dead 
of  both  armies  had  to  be  interred. 

It  was  during  this  period  following  the  battle 
that  time  was  found  to  investigate  the  conduct  of 
Henry  Williams  during  the  conflict.  A  court  mar- 
tial was  convened,  and  Henry  was  brought  before 
it.  Andrew  related  how  he  found  the  recreant 
soldier  but  said  little  of  his  dastardly  attempt  upon 
his  life.  He  even  refrained  from  having  made  pub- 
lic the  affair  upon  the  picket  line  only  a  few  short 
months  before,  and  the  part  Henry  played  in  it. 
But  most  of  those  who  comprised  the  court  martial 
knew  of  Henry's  unsoldierly  qualities,  his  pretended 
illness  in  the  hospital,  and  with  his  present  show 
of  cowardice,  they  concluded  the  Union  army  was 
better  without  such  soldiers.  So,  after  a  severe 
reprimand,  he  was  dismissed  from  the  ranks.  A 
wag  of  a  soldier,  who  was  somewhat  of  an  artist,  la- 
belled a  large  placard  with  the  words,  "Best  cure 
for  Roomatix."  They  pinned  it  upon  his  back, 


ON   TO   GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. 

and  to  the  music  of  the  tune,  "When  Johnny 
comes  marching  home  again,"  the  boys  all  joining 
in  singing  the  tune,  with  a  change  of  words,  "When 
Henry  comes  sneaking  home  again,"  Henry  Wil- 
liams was  drummed  out  of  camp. 

It  was  with  an  increased  desire  for  revenge  that 
Henry  returned  to  his  home,  and  took  his  place 
again  behind  the  counter  in  his  father's  store. 

He  had  vainly  hoped  his  rather  inglorious  con- 
duct would  be  kept  from  reaching  the  ears  of  the 

inhabitants  of  N ,  but  in  this  he  was  doomed 

to  disappointment,  for  little  by  little,  it  leaked  out, 
and  the  youth  of  the  village  learning  of  the  title  he 
had  acquired  in  the  army,  addressed  him  as  "Private 
Roomatix,"  Walter  Bentley  being  foremost  among 
the  number,  which  so  incensed  Henry  that  he  re- 
solved at  once  that  he  would  show  his  power  over 
the  Bentley's. 

He  therefore  called  upon  his  attorney  with 
whom  he  had  left  the  mortgage  against  the  Bent- 
ley  estate,  and  ordered  an  immediate  foreclosure. 

He  chuckled  to  himself  as  he  pictured  the  con- 
sternation that  would  reign  in  the  home  of  An- 
drew's parents,  and  the  chagrin  of  the  impudent 
Walter.  But  imagine  his  surprise  when  after  a 
few  days,  he  called  upon  the  attorney  to  see  how 


HO  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

matters  had  progressed,  to  have  that  gentleman 
hand  him  a  bag  of  gold,  remarking  that  he  had 
served  the  proper  notice  upon  Farmer  Bentley, 
who  had  called  the  day  following,  tendered  the 
gold,  which  being  sufficient  to  meet  the  claim,  and 
finding  everything  correct  and  properly  signed,  he 
had  surrendered  the  papers  to  the  old  gentleman. 

Henry's  face  evinced  rage  and  disappointment, 
and  he  thoughtlessly  blurted  out,  "Why  in  all  com- 
mon sense  didn't  you  force  him  to  a  sale?" 

The  old  lawyer's  lips  curled  with  scorn,  and  he 
replied  with  sarcasm,  "My  dear  sir,  the  best  of 
common  sense  as  you  term  it,  suggested  but  one 
thing  for  me  to  do.  Accept  his  gold  and  surren- 
der the  document." 

Henry  finding  himself  thwarted,  and  seeing  no 
further  recourse,  quietly  pocketed  the  money,  and 
paying  the  attorney  for  his  services,  made  his  way 
back  home,  all  the  time  in  a  quandary  as  to  how 
Farmer  Bentley  came  into  possession  of  so  much 
money. 

He  did  not  know  that  Andrew's  father  had  so 
true  a  friend  in  the  rich  Judge  Preston,  who  had 
furnished  the  necessary  amount,  taking  his  neigh- 
bor's simple  recognizance  to  hold  against  its  pay- 
ment. 


ON  TO   GETTYSBURG COWARDICE.  Ill 

So  again  Henry  Williams  found  himself  de- 
feated in  his  plans.  But  in  due  time  a  strange  and 
unexpected  occurrence  threw  Andrew  Bentley  in 
his  power,  and  permitted  him  for  a  time  to  believe 
that  he  would  be  able  to  at  last  have  a  revenge  upon 
his  rival. 


112  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN  SEARCH  OF  APPLE-JACK. 

T  was  a  short  time  after  the  Union  army  had 
returned  to  Virginia,  and  was  recuperating 
from  the  effects  of  the  battle  of  Gettysburg 
that  two  of  the  characters  in  our  story  met 
with  an  adventure  followed  by  an  experience  which 
both  remembered  for  a  long  time. 

The  camp  of  the  Sixty Pennsylania  Vol- 
unteers was  in  the  neighborhood  of  Warrenton 
Junction,  and  for  several  weeks  there  had  been  lit- 
tle or  no  activity  in  that  part  of  the  army,  and  the 
soldier  boys  were  beginning  to  long  for  some  new 
excitement. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  sultry  day  in  August 
that  Alpheus  Forrest  sought  out  his  friend  Andrew 
Bentley,  whom  he  found  in  his  tent  engaged  in  let- 
ter writing,  and  urged  that  he  accompany  him  on 
an  expedition  down  the  Warrenton  pike. 

Alpheus  had  in  some  way  learned  of  an  old  far- 
mer living  down  that  way,  who  had  stored  in  his 
cellar  some  rare  old  apple-jack.  "Besides,"  said  the 


IN  SEARCH  OF  APPLE  JACK.          113 

young  soldier,  "I  learn  that  the  old  man  has  several 
entertaining  daughters,  and  I'll  be  blamed  if  I 
wouldn't  like  to  rest  my  eyes  on  some  purty  gals 
once.  'Twould  relieve  the  everlasting  monotony 
of  blue  coats  and  brass  buttons." 

"Yes,"  replied  Andrew,  "But  perhaps  they 
don't  care  much  about  entertaining  Yankee  sol- 
diers? You  know  some  of  these  Virginia  belles  are 
quite  bon-ton  in  their  manner  and  would  consider 
it  beneath  their  dignity  to  recognize  one  of  Lin- 
coln's hirelings,  as  you  know  they  often  call  us." 

"I  am  willing  to  brave  the  lion  in  his  den,  the 
Douglas  in  his  hall,"  said  Alpheus  in  a  tragic  man- 
ner, recalling  a  portion  of  an  old  school  declama- 
tion. "Then  again  I  have  heard  that  the  old  F.  F. 
V.  has  Union  proclivities,  but  of  this  I  am  not  sure. 
However,  all  we  want  is  a  taste  of  his  old  apple-jack 
and  an  opportunity  to  rest  our  eyes  upon  feminine 
loveliness.  You  know  the  'cat  can  at  least  look 
at  the  king.'  " 

"I  think  you  are  growing  sarcastic,"  gravely 
replied  Andrew.  "But  we  need  a  pass  to  get  out- 
side our  lines." 

"I  am  willing  to  brave  the  lion  in  his  den,  the 
piece  of  paper  signed  by  the  adjutant  of  the  regi- 
ment, giving  permission  for  Sergeant  Forrest  and 

8 


114  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

one,  to  pass  the  guard  between  the  hours  of  six  P. 
M.  and  six  A.  M. 

"All  right,  comrade,  I'll  be  with  you  as  soon 
as  I  finish  this  letter,"  and  hastily  adding  a 
postscript,  he  signed,  sealed  and  addressed  it, 
placed  it  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  blouse  intend- 
ing to  mail  it  in  the  morning. 

The  reader  will  be  better  able  to  judge  whether 
that  letter  ever  reached  the  fair  Annie  Preston  after 
the  perusal  of  the  following  chapters. 

They  took  no  arms  with  them  except  an  old 
Derringer  pistol,  which  Andrew  had  brought  from 
home.  This  he  thrust  into  his  pocket,  remarking 
as  he  did  so  that  one  should  not  forget  to  go  armed 
while  traveling  on  hostile  ground. 

Alpheus  laughed  at  this,  and  said  he  did  not  an- 
ticipate meeting  any  of  the  enemy  as  he  had  heard 
that  their  advance  pickets  were  above  fifteen  miles 
away.  He  claimed  the  farm  house  they  proposed 
to  visit  was  only  about  two  miles  down  the  road, 
and  they  could  not  possibly  miss  the  place. 

They  soon  passed  the  Union  picket  lines  and 
reaching  the  highway,  shaped  their  steps  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  farm  house,  where  they  expected  to 
find  apple-jack  and  Southern  loveliness. 

Our  young  friends  both  being  lovers  of  music, 


IN   SEARCH    OF   APPLE-JACK.  11$ 

were  hoping  that  they  might  find  the  ladies  of  the 
house,  which  they  proposed  visiting,  possessing  the 
same  taste,  and  thus  be  able  to  pass  a  very  pleasant 
evening. 

It  was  not  quite  eight  o'clock  when  our  friends 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  farm  house.  They  fan- 
cied they  heard  laughter  and  music  as  they  ap- 
proached, but  when  they  ascended  the  steps  that 
led  up  to  the  wide  veranda  and  knocked  at  the  door 
all  noise  had  ceased. 

They  were  almost  sure  they  detected  the  sound 
of  hurried  feet  and  the  closing  of  a  door,  then  all 
was  silent.  Our  young  friends  stood  quietly  wait- 
ing, and  ere  long  the  sound  of  footsteps  came  shuf- 
fling up  to  the  door,  which  was  flung  wide  open, 
and  a  man  whom  they  presumed  to  be  the  owner 
of  the  place  stood  before  them.  He  was  a  man 
evidently  of  three  score  years  or  more,  whose  hair 
and  beard  had  evidently  at  one  time  been  of  the  hue 
of  the  raven,  but  was  now  of  a  silvery  sheen.  His 
hair  fell  in  profusion  upon  his  shoulders,  while  his 
beard  would  have  been  an  ornament  to  his  face  had 
it  not  been  disfigured  by  a  dirty  yellowish  streak 
reaching  from  his  lips  the  entire  length,  the  result 
of  a  continuous  deposit  of  tobacco  juice.  The 
-eyes  of  the  aged  patriarch  before  them  had  a  foxy 


Il6  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

expression,  and  never  rested  long  on  any  one  ob- 
ject. He  was  attired  in  an  old  smoking  jacket, 
much  the  worse  for  wear,  while  his  feet  were  en- 
cased in  a  pair  of  badly  run  down  slippers.  It  was 
evident  that  like  many  of  the  would-be  aristocracy 
of  the  "Old  Dominion"  an  alarming  degeneracy 
existed.  His  voice  had  apparently  a  ring  of  wel- 
come in  it  as  he  saluted  them. 

"Howdy  boys?  Howdy !  Be  you  out  on  a  lark?" 

Our  two  soldier  boys  bowed  politely,  and  An- 
drew acting  as  spokesman  replied,  "My  dear  sir, 
we  are  out  on  a  little  pleasure  jaunt,  and  hearing 
that  you  had  some  good  cheer  in  your  house,  we 
thought  we  would  make  you  a  short  call." 

"That's  right,  boys,  jist  step  in  and  make  yer- 
sels  to  hum,  my  house  is  always  open  to  the 
Yanks,"  and  as  he  said  this  he  led  the  way  and  ush- 
ered them  into  a  large  dimly  lighted  parlor. 

As  our  friends  entered  they  were  both  pleased 
to  notice  that  in  one  corner  stood  an  old  fashioned 
piano,  open  as  though  it  had  been  lately  used.  The 
sight  of  this  instrument  caused  a  thrill  of  delight  to 
come  into  the  heart  of  each  of  the  soldier  boy  visi- 
tors, for  the  old  square  piano  recalled  visions  of 
home,  and  it  had  been  many  months  since  they 


IN   SEARCH   OF   APPLE-JACK.  1 1/ 

had  been  permitted  to  listen  to  the  sweet  tones  of 
an  instrument  of  this  kind. 

Their  host  bid  them  be  seated,  saying  he  would 
go  and  hunt  up  the  gals,  and  with  this  he  left  them. 

Alpheus  could  not  refrain  from  going  to  the 
instrument  and  seating  himself  upon  the  stool  ran 
his  fingers  back  and  forth  over  the  keys,  at  last 
dropping  into  the  air  of  "Swanee  River"  which  he . 
played  soft  and  low,  showing  a  remarkably  delicate 
touch  of  finger  as  he  manipulated  the  keys. 

While  Alpheus  was  thus  engaged,  Andrew  was 
taking  a  quiet  survey  of  the  surroundings.  He  had 
somehow  or  other  a  feeling  that  the  room  had 
been  occupied  by  some  one  prior  to  their  coming, 
but  why  seemingly  so  deserted  now,  he  could  not 
understand. 

He  noticed  that  the  chairs  were  in  such  a  posi- 
tion as  to  indicate  that  they  had  recently  been  oc- 
cupied. He  arose  from  his  seat  and  walked  over 
to  where  Alpheus  was  playing,  and  commenced  to 
leaf  over  the  music  that  was  lying  loose  upon  the 
instrument. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  he  felt  almost  sure 
he  saw  the  shadow  of  a  man  passing  the  window, 
that  looked  out  upon  the  veranda,  but  then  he 
thought  it  might  likely  enough  be  the  farmer,  and 


1 1 8  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

so  for  the  moment  gave  it  no  further  thought.  But 
a  few  moments  later,  he  was  positive  that  he  heard 
the  sounds  of  galloping  hoofs  fast  receding  in  the 
distance. 

Alpheus  had  heard  and  seen  nothing  to  arouse 
his  suspicions.  He  had  only  eyes  and  ears  for  the 
music  before  him.  Being  an  enthusiastic  lover  of 
the  sublime  art,  and  no  mean  performer  himself,  he 
was  lost  to  his  surroundings  as  he  deftly  touched 
the  keys  bringing  out  the  sweet  harmony  of  sound. 
He  finally  drifted  into  a  sweet  melody  never  too  old 
to  bear  a  repetition,  that  of  "Home  Sweet  Home" 
and  into  the  heart  of  each,  came  at  that  moment  an 
intense  longing  for  the  dear  old  home  so  far  away. 

The  music  was  brought  to  a  sudden  termination 
by  the  entrance  of  the  host,  accompanied  by  three 
young  ladies,  and  at  once,  without  ceremony  or 
any  attempt  at  etiquette,  he  blurted  out,  "Gals, 
here's  a  couple  of  Yanks  come  to  give  us  a  call. 
Boys,  durn  me  if  I  know  yer  names,  but  'taint  no 
matter;  these  two  girls,"  pointing  to  the  tallest  of 
the  trio,  "are  my  daughters,  while  this  little  lass" 
laying  his  hand  upon  the  head  of  the  smallest  and 
apparently  youngest  of  the  three,  "is  my  niece  from 
old  Kaintuck,  and  a  right  smart  sort  of  a  Secesh'r 
she  be  tew,  so  boys  look'ee  out,  'er  she'll  spike  yer 


IN   SEARCH    OF    APPLEJACK. 

guns,"  and  as  he  said  this,  he  gave  a  significant 
wink  to  his  two  daughters,  which  did  not  escape  the 
sharp  eyes  of  Andrew. 

The  ladies  made  a  graceful  courtesy,  while  our 
two  friends  bowed  low  to  the  ladies,  Andrew  quiet- 
ly remarking  that  it  was  a  rare  pleasure  to  meet 
with  those  of  the  gentler  sex  amid  so  much  war  and 
blood  shed. 

The  taller  of  the  two  sisters  replied  that  in  these 
days  of  confusion  and  strife  it  was  very  pleasant  to 
spend  an  evening  with  callers  without  an  interrup- 
tion, and  again  Andrew  noticed  a  significant  look 
pass  betwixt  father  and  daughter. 

The  two  young  ladies  whom  the  host  classed 
as  his  daughters,  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  their 
father.  While  not  considered  handsome,  they 
were  both  comely  girls ;  not  richly  attired,  for  fine 
dresses  at  that  stage  of  the  war  were  not  to  be 
thought  of  by  the  average  Southern  belle,  but  they 
were  neatly  attired,  and  withal,  attractive  j-oung 
ladies. 

The  one  designated  as  "My  niece  from  Kain- 
tuck,"  evinced  that  she  came  from  the  State  re- 
nowned for  fair  women.  We  will  not  go  into  a 
description  of  her  beauty,  but  simply  say  she  was 
a  young  lady  worthy  the  admiration  of  any  mant 


I2O  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

At  least  this  was  the  opinion  of  our  young  friend 
Alpheus,  who  had  not  yet  surrendered  to  the 
charms  of  any  one  of  the  opposite  sex.  Although 
he  was  not  sure  of  being  able  to  withstand  a  long 
siege  from  the  beauty  of  the  sparkling  eyes  which 
the  young  lady  possessed. 

"Ya-as,  we've  seen  purty  stirrin'  times,"  broke 
in  the  old  gentleman  at  the  close  of  the  remark 
made  by  the  daughter  to  Andrew's  compliment. 
""  Tears  we  people  here  in  old  Virginny  hev 
more'n  our  share  of  fitin'  and  radin'  of  armies,  than 
ennywhere  else  fur's  I  kin  see,"  and  he  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  long  twist  of  black  chewing  tobacco 
and  opening  a  pocket  knife  cut  off  an  enormous 
large  bite,  which  he  deliberately  placed  in  his 
mouth  and  began  to  chew  vigorously.  "Hev  a 
chew?"  and  he  proffered  the  weed  to  his  two  call- 
ers. Neither  Andrew  nor  Alpheus  being  addicted 
to  the  habit  of  chewing  politely  declined.  "Wall, 
so  much  left  fur  me  to  nibble  at,  I  am  not  a  heavy 
hand  at  the  bizness,  only  chew  enough  ter  allow  me 
to  spit  clear,"  and  with  this  he  drew  forth  an  old 
spittoon  from  a  hidden  place  in  the  corner,  and  de- 
posited therein  a  goodly  quantity  of  saliva  strong- 
ly impregnated  with  tobacco  juice,  and  wiping  his 
beard,  resumed  his  seat,  while  Andrew  glanced 


IN  SEARCH   OF  APPLE-JACK.  121 

over  at  Alpheus,  with  a  look  upon  his  face  as  much 
as  to  say :  "How  about  being  able  to  spit  clear?" 

"Have  you  had  many  soldiers  about  here?"  in- 
quired Andrew,  for  he  wished  to  hear  what  the  old 
man  would  say  on  the  subject. 

"Ya-as,  consid'able;  one  day  'tis  the  Confeds, 
and  next  day  'tis  the  Yanks,  and  'twixt  'em  it  keeps 
a  man  busy  to  hev  a  roof  over  his  head." 

"I  trust  the  Union  soldiers  have  always  re- 
spected the  rights  of  your  home,"  said  Andrew. 

"Ya-as,  purty  much  so,  but  I  tell  yer  ther's  sum 
white  livered  sojers  in  the  Union  army  as  well  as 
the  Confedr't  army  that  don't  respect  yer  rights 
enny  more'n  nuthin.  Now  there  were  some  fellers 
here  in  the  spring,  and  one  of  'em — fine  enough 
lookin'  to  be  the  gentleman  he  wa'nt — thought  he'd 
play  smart  on  me  an'  turned  on  all  the  spigots  in 
my  barrels  of  apple-jack,  jist  a  little,  yer  see,  so  I 
wouldn't  notice  'fore  he  left,  and  I  swan  ter  grash- 
us,  if  I  hadn't  went  down  in  that  cellar  purty  soon 
arter  he  and  his  crowd  left,  my  hull  cellar  'twould 
hev  been  swimmin'  in  apple-jack.  Now  I  count  that 
a  mighty  mean  piece  of  work,  tryin'  to  spile  what 
yer  can't  drink  yersel'.  If  he  comes  back  here,  I'll 
jist  sit  ole  Tige'  on  him,  and  let  him  give  the  mean 
coot  a  shakin'  up.  Guess  he  must  aller  s  been  a 


122  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

mean  sort  of  'er-a-cuss,  fer  he'd  a  mark  upon  his 
forehead,  that  showed  somebody  at  one  time  tried 
tu  git  even  with  him." 

"I  hope  he  did  not  belong  to  our  regiment," 
said  Andrew. 

"I  dunno  as  he  did.  He  had  a  figger  wun,  and 
an  o,  and  a  figger  five  on  his  cap." 

"Was  he  of  stout  build,  with  hair  inclined  to 
curl?"  said  Andrew. 

"Ya-as,  jist  such  a  feller  as  that,  had  jet  black 
eyes." 

Andrew  looked  at  his  comrade  and  uttered  the 
single  word,  "Williams."  Alpheus  nodded.  They 
both  had  recognized  in  the  object  of  their  host's 
derision,  one  of  their  fellow  townsmen  once  serving 
in  the  One  Hundred  and Pennsylvania. 

"Wall,  boys,  try  an'  n'joy  yersels,"  and  he  arose 
to  leave  the  room.  Pausing  in  the  door  way,  he 
remarked,  "Reckon  there  won't  likely  be  any  more 
of  you-uns  down  this  way  to-night?" 

"Why,  I  hardly  think  so,  although  men  are  get- 
ting permission  every  evening  to  leave  camp,  but 
why  do  you  ask?"  said  Andrew. 

"Oh- Why  !-'er  swan  ter  grashus  if  I  kin  jist  tell, 
guess  I  must  be  gettin'  inquisertive.  Good-night, 
boys,  try  an'  'njoy  yersels,"  and  he  was  about  to 


IN   SEARCH   OF   APPLE-JACK.  12$ 

take  his  departure  when  Alpheus  who  had  hitherto 
remained  silent,  just  then  thinking  of  the  prime  ob- 
ject of  their  visit,  sprang  from  his  seat  towards  the 
old  gentleman  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 

"Gosh  hang  it,  ya'as,  sutinly,  give  us  yer  can- 
teen and  I'll  fill  it  fer  yer,  and  ye'll  find  it  hangin' 
out  here  by  the  door  when  ye  git  ready  to  go."  And 
he  took  Alpheus'  canteen  and  departed. 

That  was  the  last  time  Alpheus  was  permitted 
to  look  upon  his  old  canteen,  from  which  he  had 
taken  many  a  refreshing  drink,  and  ofttimes  in  the 
days  that  followed,  did  he  long  for  a  draught  from 
it,  but  we  must  not  anticipate. 


124  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TRAPPED. 

ANNOT  one  of  you  gentlemen  play  for 
us?"  Now  spoke  up  the  second  daugh- 
ter, who  heretofore  had  not  attempted 
to  enter  into  the  conversation. 
"Oh,  yes,  do !"  added  her  companion,  the  one 
whom  the  host  had  introduced  as  his  niece.  "I 
am  sure  I  heard  some  very  sweet  music  before  we 
came  in.  Play  for  me,  'My  Old  Kentucky  Home' 
please?"  and  she  cast  upon  Alpheus  a  most  be- 
witching look. 

The  poor  fellow  felt  a  quickening  of  the  flow 
of  blood  to  his  heart  and  he  blushed  unconsciously. 
Alpheus  felt,  that  (to  use  the  expression  of  the 
old  gentleman)  his  "guns  were  already  spiked,"  and 
just  then  he  would  have  done  anything  in  his  pow- 
er to  please  her.  So  ravishing  may  be  the  glance 
from  the  eyes  of  a  lovely  woman. 

He  at  once  complied  and  going  to  the  piano, 
seated  himself  and  struck  up  that  melody  ever  dear 
to  one  of  the  "Blue  grass  State."  The  young  lady 


TRAPPED.  125 

for  whom  the  melody  was  being  played,  now  arose 
and  stood  by  the  side  of  Alpheus,  who,  feeling  the 
magnetism  of  her  presence,  and  with  the  desire  to 
please,  threw  his  whole  heart  into  the  execution  of 
the  music  before  him,  which  soon  caused  the  other 
two  ladies  who  had  entered  into  a  conversation 
with  Andrew,  to  pause  and  listen  to  the  sweet 
strains  Alpheus  was  eliciting  from  the  keys  of  the 
old  piano.  The  spirit  of  the  girl  from  "Old  Kain- 
tuck"  was  aroused  and  soon  she  besought  Andrew 
and  her  companions  to  join  her  in  singing  a  few 
stanzas  of  the  old  song,  which  they  accordingly  did, 
and  soon  the  farm  house  resounded  with  the  har- 
mony of  their  voices.  Andrew  possessed  a  good 
tenor  voice,  while  Alpheus  had  always  been  consid- 
ered quite  a  hand  at  singing  bass,  and  soon  the 
young  ladies  perceived  that  their  callers  were  pos- 
sessed of  more  than  ordinary  ability. 

The  song  was  no  sooner  finshed,  than  the  elder 
of  the  two  daughters  claimed  that  now  they  must 
sing  "My  Old  Virginia  Low-lands,"  which  was 
granted,  and  at  its  close  Andrew  remarked  that  as 
he  couldn't  recall  any  particular  song  adapted  to 
his  native  State,  he  would  suggest  the  singing  of 
"The  Star  Spangled  Banner." 

At  once  the  ladies  protested  against  singing 
that,  as  being  too  old  and  stale. 


1 26  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Our  hero  felt  his  cheeks  burn  for  a  moment, 
with  the  sudden  rush  of  blood,  but  suppressing  his 
feeling  he  said,  "Well,  how  will  Dixie  suit  you?" 

This  met  with  a  ready  response  by  all  three  and 
soon  they  were  declaring  in  the  spirit  of  song  "That 
in  Dixie's  land  I'll  take  my  stand,"  etc. 

Andrew  now  felt  fully  convinced  that  they  were 
in  the  home  of  one  whose  sympathies  lay  with  the 
South;  but  he  felt  that  the  evening  was  passing 
pleasantly,  still  he  would  keep  his  eyes  open  for 
any  unexpected  event,  which  came  soon  enough, 
for  as  they  were  in  the  midst  of  "Maryland  my 
Maryland,"  a  clatter  was  heard  out  in  the  yard,  and 
Andrew  going  to  the  window  peered  forth  and  be- 
held a  small  body  of  troopers,  several  already  dis- 
mounted. 

The  rising  moon  was  emitting  only  an  uncer- 
tain light,  and  Andrew  could  not  clearly  make  out 
whether  the  group  outside  was  Union  or  Confed- 
erate. But  his  doubts  were  soon  set  aside  by 
heavy  steps  being  heard  upon  the  veranda  and  the 
door  quickly  thrown  open ;  when  in  stalked  an  offi- 
cer and  four  men  clad  in  the  gray  uniform  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy. 

As  Andrew  looked  at  his  friend,  who  sat  in 
speechless  amazement  at  the  piano,  his  fingers  hav- 


TRAPPED.  127 

ing  lost  all  their  cunning,  he  ejaculated  one  word, 
"trapped,"  but  Alpheus  could  find  no  voice  to  re- 
ply. 

"Pardon  me,  ladies/*  said  the  officer,  bowing,  "I 
hesitate  to  interrupt  so  much  enjoyment,  but  you 
know  interruptions  are  in  order  at  the  present." 
As  he  said  this  he  smiled  significantly  upon  the  el- 
der of  the  farmer's  two  daughters,  and  our  hero 
looking  in  the  direction  of  the  lady  mentioned,  no- 
ticed a  little  nod  of  assent.  Then  turning  to  our 
two  discomfited  soldiers,  the  dapper  little  lieuten- 
ant said  in  an  authoritative  tone, 

"Gentlemen,  consider  yourselves  prisoners! 
Please  hand  over  your  arms !" 

There  was  a  perceptible  smile  upon  the  faces  of 
the  ladies,  as  Andrew  demurely  handed  over  to  the 
officer  his  old  Derringer  pistol  which  the  lieuten- 
ant placed  in  his  belt,  while  Alpheus  held  out  to 
him  his  pocket  knife,  declaring  it  was  all  he  was  pos- 
sessed of  in  the  way  of  a  weapon.  This  the  officer 
politely  declined,  saying  he  might  need  it  "to  cut 
his  terbacker." 

At  this  juncture,  the  ladies  arose  and  swept 
gracefully  out  of  the  room.  The  lassie  from  "Old 
Kaintuck"  paused  and,  darting  a  roguish  glance 
at  our  two  friends,  said  with  mock  gravity,  "I  hope, 


128  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

gentlemen,  as  we  sung  this  evening,  that  you  may 
take  your  stand  in  Dixie's  land  for  many  days  to 
come." 

Then  with  a  bow  to  the  rebel  lieutenant,  she 
took  her  leave.  A  few  minutes  later  a  laugh  came 
ringing  out  from  somewhere  up  stairs,  as  the  young 
ladies  recalled  the  capture  of  their  guests,  which 
fell  with  a  discord  upon  the  ear  of  Alpheus  whose 
dream  of  bliss  had  been  so  rudely  interrupted. 

Andrew  and  his  companion  were  hurried  out- 
side, where  stood  waiting  a  small  detachment  of 
cavalry,  which  proved  to  belong  to  that  famous 
organization  known  as  "Stuart's  Raiders."  A 
couple  of  sleepy  mules,  belonging  to  the  farmer, 
were  pressed  into  service,  and  our  two  friends  thus 
mounted,  with  the  bridle  rein  of  each  being  se- 
curely fastened  to  a  ring  in  the  saddle  of  two  of  the 
troopers,  the  cavalcade  set  forth  in  the  direction  of 
Culpepper,  at  which  place  they  arrived  as  the  first 
faint  streaks  of  light  became  visible  in  the  Eastern 
horizon  indicative  of  the  coming  dawn. 

Andrew  learned  from  one  of  their  captors,  as 
they  rode  along,  that  this  was  only  a  small  detach- 
ment sent  out  upon  a  reconnoisance ;  that  they  had 
bivouaced  for  the  night  a  few  miles  away  from  the 
farm  house  they  had  just  left,  but  their  command- 


TRAPPED.  129 

ing  officer  (the  lieutenant  who  rode  at  the  head) 
having  paid  a  visit  to  one  of  the  young  ladies  that 
evening,  was  surprised  by  the  coming  of  two  Yan- 
kee soldiers  and  slipping  away  unperceived,  had  re- 
gained his  command  and  their  capture  soon  fol- 
lowed. 

Everything  was  now  clear  to  Andrew.  The 
sound  of  voices  as  they  approached  the  house ;  the 
hurrying  of  feet  as  though  some  one  was  hastily 
leaving;  then  the  condition  in  which  he  found  the 
room;  the  shadow  passing  the  window,  and  the 
sound  of  galloping  hoofs,  and  later  the  significant 
remark  of  the  young  lady  about  the  pleasure  of  un- 
interrupted enjoyment,  and  the  various  glances 
and  winks,  all  having  a  meaning,  and  he  felt  like 
kicking  himself  for  being  so  stupid.  At  his  first 
opportunity  he  related  to  Alpheus  all  that  had 
aroused  his  suspicions  and  further  what  the  cavalry 
trooper  told  him  of  how  they  had  learned  of  their 
presence  at  the  farm  house.  But  the  poor  boy 
seemed  utterly  in  despair,  and  strongly  censured 
himself  when  he  recalled  that  it  was  at  his  sugges- 
tion the  visit  to  the  farm  house  was  made  and,  just 
then,  his  mind  resting  upon  the  object  of  their  call 
upon  the  old  farmer  he  broke  out  afresh:  "Con- 
found it  all,  Andy,  we've  got  ourselves  jugged  and 
in  the  end  missed  that  blamed  apple-jack." 

9 


I3O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

"No  doubt  the  honest  old  'Union  man*  will 
keep  it  safe  until  we  return  from  Dixie/'  remarked 
Andrew  dryly. 

"Union  man  be  hanged/'  ejaculated  Alpheus. 
"I'll  bet  anything  he's  a  rank  old  Secesh  at  heart, 
and  was  tickled  to  think  of  our  being  gobbled  up." 
And  as  he  spoke  his  voice  was  full  of  bitterness. 
"Wonder  why  he  didn't  put  in  an  appearance  when 
the  troopers  arrived?" 

"That  wouldn't  have  been  policy,  comrade," 
replied  Andrew.  "He  knows  the  changes  that  war 
brings  are  many  and  various,  and  that  possibly 
sometime  we  might  pay  him  another  visit,  for  yon 
know  you  would  not  object  to  another  look  into  the 
bright  eyes  of  'my  niece  from  Old  Kaintuck/  " 
and  he  repeated  the  last  few  words  with  the  inimit- 
able drawl  of  the  old  F.  F.  V.  "And  sure  enough, 
too,  you  will  want  to  get  that  canteen  of  apple- 
jack." 

"Yes,"  replied  Alpheus,  "and  if  we  ever  do,  I'm 
afraid  there'll  be  more  than  spigots  turned  in  his 
old  apple-jack  barrels.  There'll  be  some  heads 
quickly  knocked  in." 

"I  rather  guess  we  had  better  first  lay  our  plans 
to  give  our  escort  the  good-bye,"  said  Andrew 
gravely.  "I'm  sure  I  have  no  great  desire  to 


TRAPPED.  1 3 1 

spend  any  more  time  than  I  can  help  in  their 
vaunted  Dixie  Land." 

They  were  now  approaching  a  considerable 
sized  camp  of  mounted  men,  which  turned  out  to  be 
the  main  body  under  command  of  that  noted  Con-- 
federate cavalry  leader,  General  J.  E.  B.  Stuart, 
and  for  the  first  time  were  favored  with  a  sight  of 
this  "Cavalier  of  the  South."  They  had  on  battle 
fields  of  the  past  learned  of  his  fighting  qualities, 
and  now  felt  all  the  more  anxious  to  look  upon  this 
great  cavalry  chieftain. 

He  appeared  to  be  a  young  man,  strongly  built, 
of  medium  height,  with  blue  eyes  and  a  reddish 
beard.  He  wore  a  blouse  and  foraging  cap  with 
a  linen  cover  called  "Havelock"  as  a  protection 
against  the  sun. 

His  personal  appearance  indicated  the  distin- 
guishable traits  of  his  character,  dash,  great 
strength  of  will  and  indomitable  energy. 

Everything  about  the  camp  gave  evidence  of 
strict  military  discipline  maintained  by  this  Con- 
federate officer,  no  doubt  adduced  from  his  exper- 
ience in  the  United  States  Army  before  the  out- 
break of  the  war.  He  moved  about  among  his 
men  and  officers  with  a  stateliness  of  bearing  equal 
to  a  "Knight  of  the  Realm." 


132  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Our  two  friends  were  placed  with  some  other 
unfortunates  wearing  the  Union  blue,  and  who  had 
been  picked  up  by  the  different  scouting  parties. 
The  group  with  the  addition  of  Andrew  and  Al- 
pheus  now  numbered  a  score,  and  arrangements 
were  being  made  to  convey  them  farther  South. 

While  in  the  camp  of  Stuart's  men,  the  prison- 
ers were  treated  with  courtesy,  sharing  a  part  of 
their  rations.  But  the  vigilance  of  their  guards 
never  abated,  and  no  opportunity  was  offered  for 
any  to  make  an  escape. 

Their  stay  with  these  dashing  troopers  proved 
of  short  duration,  for  the  day  following  the  arrival 
of  our  two  friends  in  the  Confederate  camp,  the 
entire  lot  of  blue  coats  were  placed  under  a  strong 
guard  and  marched  down  the  railroad  track  until 
they  reached  what  was  known  then  as  Orange 
County  Court  House.  Here  they  were  loaded  into 
a  box  car  and  attached  to  a  passing  train  were  con- 
veyed by  rail  to  Lynchburg. 

Arriving  there  by  nightfall,  they  were  ordered 
out  of  the  car  by  the  guard,  who  placing  them  in 
line,  marched  the  little  band  up  the  steep  hill  lead- 
ing to  the  town,  and  halted  in  front  of  a  dingy  brick 
structure  with  heavy  iron  gratings  across  the  win- 
dows. This  was  the  public  jail  of  Campbell  County 


TRAPPED.  133 

and  here  our  soldier  boys  were  to  spend  the  night. 

A  great  crowd  of  gaping  men,  boys  and  women 
had  gathered  about  the  entrance  to  the  jail  to  get 
a  look  at  "the  poor  white  Linkun  trash,"  as  they 
designated  the  little  band  of  prisoners. 

There  were  many  dusky  faces  in  the  crowd  and 
in  this  part  of  the  on-lookers,  (especially  those  of 
years)  there  seemed  to  rest  a  look  of  sadness  and 
sympathy,  for  many  of  them  realized  that  these 
men  had  left  the  comforts  of  home  for  the  battle- 
field in  order  that  human  servitude  might  forever 
be  abolished. 

The  prisoners  were  carefully  counted  as  they 
marched  in  single  file,  the  entire  lot  occupying  the 
open  corridor  of  the  jail,  while  at  the  entrance  and 
also  at  each  barred  window  a  sentry  with  a  loaded 
musket  was  stationed. 

It  was  here  that  the  guard  who  accompanied 
them  took  their  leave,  and  their  present  guardians 
were  conscript  members  of  a  Georgia  regiment,  a 
detachment  of  which  had  been  stationed  there  to 
guard  some  commissary  stores. 


134  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  ESCAPE. 

HE  little  band  of  unfortunates  had  been 
sadly  neglected  on  the  journey,  not  hav- 
ing partaken  of  any  food  since  their  start 
in  the  morning,  and  then  it  was  only  a 
few  hard  tack  and  a  cup  of  coffee,  which  their 
guards  had  captured  from  Union  supplies  in  their 
various  raids.  Therefore  it  is  needless  to  say  that 
everybody  was  hungry,  and  the  meager  piece  of 
cold  corn  bread,  with  a  small  cup  of  some  question- 
able soup,  was  only  sufficient  to  allay  the  pangs  of 
hunger  for  a  very  brief  space  of  time. 

Soon  they  felt  as  if  nothing  had  been  served 
them  and  ere  long  the  spirit  of  barter,  always  pre- 
dominant in  the  average  soldier,  manifested  itself. 
Little  groups  of  blue  coats  were  to  be  seen  gathered 
at  the  door  and  windows,  dickering  with  the  guard 
for  something  additional  to  eat. 

Andrew  had  in  his  possession  a  German  silver 
match  safe,  with  a  few  matches  in  it,  and  this  was 


THE   ESCAPE.  135 

looked  upon  with  envious  eyes  by  one  of  the  guard. 
So  after  a  little  talk  upon  the  merits  of  the  article  in 
question,  it  found  a  resting  place  in  the  pocket  of 
the  guard,  while  Andrew  received  in  return  a  half 
dozen  hard  biscuit,  a  small  piece  of  greasy  pork  and 
ten  dollars  in  Confederate  money.  He  readily  dis- 
posed of  the  biscuit,  eating  all  but  two,  which  he  re- 
served for  morning. 

But  how  to  manage  the  greasy  piece  of  fat  pork 
was  a  quandary.  He  tried  to  secure  a  piece  of 
paper  to  wrap  around  it  but  none  of  his  companions 
were  able  to  accommodate  him.  Searching  his 
pockets  in  the  vain  hope  of  being  able  to  find  some- 
thing with  which  to  envelope  the  pork,  Andrew 
drew  forth  his  letter  to  Annie  Preston,  which  he 
had  placed  in  his  pocket  before  starting  on  that  ill- 
timed  visit  to  the  farm  house,  thinking  he  would 
mail  it  the  next  morning,  but  now  several  morn- 
ings had  passed  and  the  letter  had  not  been  mailed 
and  what  was  worse,  the  prospects  of  mailing  it 
were  very  remote. 

Andrew  looked  at  the  missive  a  few  moments, 
then  with  a  sigh  he  drew  it  from  its  covering  and  de- 
liberately wrapped  it  around  his  piece  of  pork. 
Then  tearing  the  lining  from  his  soldier  cap,  he 
folded  it  around  the  package  and  placed  it  carefully 


1 36  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

down  in  the  pocket  of  his  blouse,  intending  at  the 
first  opportunity  to  prepare  it  for  eating.  He  felt 
that  the  changes  in  a  soldier's  life  were  many. 
Little  did  he  think  when  writing  the  letter  to  his 
sweetheart,  that  this  would  be  the  disposition  of  it. 

His  comrade  Alpheus  was  the  happy  possessor 
of  a  pair  of  gold  washed  sleeve  buttons,  that 
brought  him  in  exchange  a  dozen  of  cold  roast 
potatoes,  a  small  piece  of  corn  bread,  and  about 
two  spoonfuls  of  black  molasses  called  "Sorgum." 

With  these  Alpheus  satisfied  the  cravings  of 
hunger,  saving  half  of  his  potatoes  for  another 
meal.  Then  declaring  that  if  he  had  only  a  drink  of 
"Uncle  Sam's"  black  coffee  he  would  feel  all  right. 

"How  about  a  drink  of  the  old  farmer's  apple- 
jack?" said  Andrew,  looking  at  his  young  compan- 
ion with  an  amused  smile  upon  his  face. 

"Oh,  go  way!  Don't  tantalize  a  poor  fellow," 
said  Alpheus.  "I  just  want  one  more  opportunity 
to  lay  my  eyes  upon  the  villianous  old  proprietor  of 
that  apple-jack." 

"Well,  what  then?"  said  Andrew. 

"Why,  I'd  make  him  feel  mean  enough  to  crawl 
into  the  bung  hole  of  one  of  his  barrels,"  and  Al- 
pheus tried  his  best  to  look  fierce  and  savage. 

Our  two  friends  sat  together  a  long  time  con- 


THE   ESCAPE.  137 

versing  in  a  low  tone.  Their  principal  theme  was 
how  to  effect  an  escape,  for  both  had  heard  ru- 
mors of  the  horrid  prison  pens  of  the  South.  It 
was  decided  that  they  would  stick  closely  together 
and  embrace  the  first  opportunity  for  both  to  get 
away,  and  that  one  should  not  go  without  the  other. 

Alpheus  could  not  refrain  from  again  accusing 
himself  for  bringing  this  trouble  upon  his  friend. 
But  Andrew  sought  to  cheer  his  comrade  saying 
that  it  was  only  the  chances  that  every  soldier  must 
take. 

They  found  the  hard  stone  floor  of  the  jail  the 
only  couch  offered  them,  but  they  were  soldiers, 
and  this  did  not  give  them  much  concern.  Being 
weary  from  their  long  ride,  they  stretched  them- 
selves out  side  by  side,  and  ere  long  were  far  enough 
away  from  prison  walls,  in  the  pleasant  dreams 
that  come  to  those  in  the  enjoyment  of  good  health. 
Morning  found  them  refreshed  from  their  slumber 
and  ready  for  breakfast  which  came  at  an  early 
hour,  consisting  of  a  small  tin  of  some  substitute 
for  coffee,  and  a  piece  of  corn  bread  such  as  they 
had  the  night  before,  and  a  small  scrap  of  cooked 
bacon. 

Our  two  friends  placed  their  allowance  to- 
gether, Andrew  sharing  his  remaining  biscuits  with 


138  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Alpheus,  and  receiving  in  return  the  half  of  his 
comrade's  potatoes  saved  from  the  previous  eve- 
ning. Their  table  was  the  floor  of  the  prison,  and 
placing  their  food  down  before  them,  ate  as  only 
hungry  men  can,  and  soon  everything  eatable  had 
disappeared  from  sight. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  forenoon,  an  officer 
came  to  the  jail  and  issued  an  order  for  the  prison- 
ers to  be  brought  forth.  Accordingly  they  were 
at  once  assembled  in  the  public  thoroughfare  in 
front  of  the  jail  building  surrounded  by  their  guard, 
and  thus  they  stood  patiently  waiting  in  the  hot 
sun  till  long  past  the  noon-time  hour..  Then  their 
guards  were  changed  and  they  were  marched  back 
to  the  railroad  and  embarked  in  an  old  dingy  look- 
ing passenger  car  that  was  attached  to  the  rear  end 
of  a  long,  heavily  laden  freight  train,  which,  after 
some  little  delay  on  account  of  the  engine  not  hav- 
ing enough  steam,  they  started  on  their  journey 
farther  South,  making  a  fair  rate  of  speed  but  los- 
ing much  time  by  occasional  stops  to  repair  some 
portion  of  the  machinery  of  the  engine  that  had 
given  out,  and  to  discharge  a  part  of  their  freight 
at  way-stations  along  the  road. 

A  small  portion  of  the  guard  occupied  places 
on  various  parts  of  the  train,  but  the  greater  num- 
ber occupied  the  coach  with  their  prisoners. 


THE   ESCAPE.  139 

The  doors  of  the  coach  were  locked  and  the 
guards  vigilant,  so  that  little  chance  for  escape  pre- 
sented itself. 

But  still  our  friends  kept  a  close  watch  intend- 
ing to  be  ready  if  opportunity  should  offer  for 
them  to  leave  the  train,  although  they  could  not 
help  feeling  depressed  as  they  realized  that  every 
revolution  of  the  iron  wheels  carried  them  nearer 
some  prison  pen. 

The  other  prisoners  maintained  a  sullen  silence. 
In  fact,  during  the  entire  journey,  there  had  been 
little  intercourse  or  exchange  of  conversation.  No 
doubt  many  like  our  two  friends  were  deeply  cha- 
grined at  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  them. 
The  rebel  guards  were  typical  Georgians,  lean, 
lank  and  hollow  eyed,  with  sallow  skin  and  un- 
kempt hair.  Their  general  appearance  indicated 
that  they  were  not  surfeited  with  their  allowance 
of  rations. 

We  do  not  say  that  there  were  no  exceptions  to 
this  class,  for  we  know  Georgia  sent  some  fine 
looking  men  into  the  army,  but  the  major  part  of 
those  who  were  conscripted  were  largely  as  we 
have  described.  They  proved,  however,  effective 
as  guards,  and  in  this  capacity  filled  the  place  of 
abler  men. 


I4O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Evidently  what  these  men  lacked  in  rations, 
they  made  up  in  the  use  of  tobacco,  for  there 
seemed  to  be  a  perpetual  motion  of  their  jaws,  only 
pausing  while  they  rolled  the  quid  around  in  their 
mouth  preparatory  to  taking  a  new  start,  while 
they  constantly  expectorated  their  filthy  saliva 
anywhere  and  everywhere,  not  infrequently  squirt- 
ing it  down  the  neck  of  some  poor  unfortunate  pris- 
oner, which  act  never  failed  to  elicit  a  laugh  from 
those  of  the  guard  who  witnessed  it,  while  the  ob- 
ject of  their  insult  was  obliged  to  quietly  suppress 
his  indignation. 

These  doughty  warriors  wore  a  mixed  uniform 
of  butternut  and  gray,  much  the  worse  for  wear, 
and  in  painful  contrast  with  the  bright,  clean  blue 
of  their  prisoners,  many  of  them  having  uniforms 
still  new  and  clean. 

The  arms  carried  by  the  guards  were  mostly 
muskets  of  the  old  Springfield  pattern. 

The  afternoon  was  slowly  wearing  away,  and 
the  stomachs  of  the  little  party  of  prisoners  were 
beginning  to  clamor  for  some  kind  of  food;  For 
the  morning  meal  had  been  eaten  early,  and  at  the 
time  was  not  very  substantial,  and  so  limited  in 
quantity  that  it  was  impossible  to  reserve  a  portion 
for  any  other  meal. 


THE   ESCAPE.  14! 

The  guards  without  any  apparent  regard  for 
the  feeling  of  their  prisoners,  brought  forth  from 
their  haversacks  some  pieces  of  corn  bread  called 
"pone,"  and  proceeded  to  munch  it,  washing  it 
down  with  the  draughts  of  water  which  they  pro- 
cured from  a  tank  in  one  end  of  the  car. 

This  supply  soon  being  exhausted,  the  unfortu- 
nates under  their  care  were  thus  deprived  of  even 
quenching  their  thirst,  but  what  did  these  heartless 
guards  care;  anything  was  good  enough  for  a 
Yank. 

Hunger  makes  the  majority  of  men  restless  and 
irritable,  and  this  feeling  soon  became  manifest  in 
the  car  among  the  Union  men.  They  would  fre- 
quently change  their  seats  and  make  visits  to  the 
empty  water  tank,  look  in  and  finding  it  empty, 
come  away  with  a  sullen  discontented  look  upon 
their  faces.  They  would  repeat  their  visit  in  a 
short  time,  apparently  forgetful  of  the  known  fact 
that  the  tank  was  empty. 

This  restlessness  alarmed  the  guard,  and  sev- 
eral more  of  their  conpanions  were  brought  into 
the  car  and  stationed  at  the  door.  They  evi- 
dently anticipated  an  outbreak,  but  what  could  a 
few  helpless  prisoners  do  against  almost  an  equal 
number  of  guards  with  loaded  muskets  in  their 
hands. 


142  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

But  it  was  evident  that  a  crisis  was  approach- 
ing for  the  restlessness  of  the  men  increased,  as 
the  pangs  of  hunger  became  more  poignant. 

The  light  of  day  was  fading  out  and  the  shades 
of  night  beginning  to  fall.  The  car  was  poorly 
equipped  with  light,  having  but  two  dingy  lamps, 
one  in  front  and  rear,  emitting  only  a  sickly  yellow 
flame  barely  sufficient  to  enable  the  guards  to 
make  out  their  prisoners ;  and  to  add  to  the  unsatis- 
factory illumination,  the  atmosphere  in  the  coach 
was  made  more  hazy  by  several  of  the  prisoners 
who,  having  found  a  few  crumbs  of  tobacco  in  their 
pockets,  had  drawn  forth  their  old  pipes,  filled  them 
and,  after  borrowing  all  the  matches  they  possibly 
could  from  the  guard,  they  soon  set  their  pipes 
a-going,  causing  Alpheus(who  didn't  indulge  in  the 
use  of  the  weed  in  any  way)  to  remark  that  if  his  old 
knife  was  only  sharp  enough  he  would  readily  cut 
his  share  of  the  tobacco  smoke  out,  and  ask  permis- 
sion of  the  guard  to  toss  it  out  of  the  window. 

The  air  within  the  car  was  growing  thick  and 
hot,  for  the  afternoon  had  been  quite  warm,  and 
the  guard  would  allow  no  window  to  be  raised  for 
fear  of  an  attempt  to  escape  on  the  part  of  some 
prisoner.  Thus  another  comfort  was  cruelly  de- 
nied the  suffering  men. 


THE   ESCAPE.  143 

Finally  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  guard  de- 
clared he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  ordered  the 
men  to  cease  smoking.  He  also  stated  that  each 
man  must  keep  his  seat,  and  emphasized  his  com- 
mand with  an  oath,  declaring  he  would  bayonet  the 
first  man  who  dared  to  disobey  his  orders.  The 
men  in  blue  knew  quite  well  that  the  officer  would 
gladly  avail  himself  of  an  opportunity  to  put  his 
threat  into  effect,  if  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
boast  of  having  bayoneted  a  hated  Yankee. 

Yet  there  were  men  in  that  car  who,  without 
any  means  of  defense,  except  those  supplied  by  na- 
ture, were  ready  to  defy  this  boasting  braggart. 

The  train  stopped  long  enough  at  Danville  to 
discharge  some  freight,  and  take  on  a  fresh  supply 
of  coal  and  water,  and  then  under  a  higher  pressure 
of  steam  and  possibly  a  lighter  load,  went  daslimg 
off  in  the  darkness  in  the  direction  of  Salisbury, 
North  Carolina,  as  this  was  the  place  to  which  the 
prisoners  were  destined,  Andrew  having  overheard 
the  conductor  shouting  to  the  station  agent  at 
Danville,  that  they  had  a  car  of  miserable  Yankee 
soldiers  they  meant  to  dump  off  at  that  place. 

Our  hero,  having  some  knowledge  of  the  coun- 
try, knew  the  distance  from  Danville  to  Salisbury 
was  not  great,  and  the  train  under  the  increased 


144  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

rate  of  speed  it  was  now  making,  would  not  be 
many  hours  in  making  the  run  between  the  two 
places. 

He  felt  that  once  within  a  rebel  stockade,  their 
chances  of  escape  would  materially  lessen,  and  that 
if  they  meant  to  do  anything  toward  making  an  es- 
cape they  would  have  to  act  quickly.  He  again 
conferred  with  Alpheus,  who  occupied  the  seat  with 
him.  But  cudgel  their  brains  all  they  could,  no 
avenue  of  possible  escape  seemed  to  present  itself, 
for  at  least  four  men  stood  at  each  door  of  the  car, 
while  others  were  interspersed  along  in  the  aisle. 

True,  an  exit  through  the  window  might  be  at- 
tempted, but  the  result  would  likely  prove  disas- 
trous in  the  presence  of  so  vigilant  a  guard. 

But  ofttimes  in  our  lives  when  we  are  in  an  ex- 
tremity, and  sheer  desperation  stares  us  in  the  face, 
the  unlooked  for  happens.  This  was  the  case  with 
our  two  despairing  friends. 

An  event  occurred  which  offered  to  the  weary, 
hungry  prisoners  an  opportunity  to  escape. 

The  train  was  of  considerable  length,  and  the 
car  containing  the  guards  with  their  prisoners,  be- 
ing attached  to  the  extreme  rear  end,  while  run- 
ning at  a  high  rate  of  speed,  and  the  road  full  of 


THE  ESCAPE.  145 

curves,  naturally  swung  heavily  from  side  to  side, 
at  times  almost  leaving  the  rails. 

It  was  while  rounding  one  of  these  sharp  curves 
in  the  darkness  that  a  loud  report  was  heard,  and 
the  car  swerved  from  side  to  side  like  a  drunken 
man,  then  toppled  over  and  went  crashing  down  an 
embankment,  soon  lay  bottom  upward  amid  the 
reeds  and  marshes  of  a  stretch  of  swampy  land  that 
at  that  place,  closely  bordered  the  railroad,  while 
the  train,  thundering  on,  was  soon  lost  to  sight  and 
sound. 

"The  unlocked  for"  was  the  breaking  of  a  coup- 
ling; not  the  modern  connections  much  in  vogue 
in  the  present  day,  but  the  old  style  link  and  pin. 

The  noise  of  the  departing  train  was  followed 
by  cries,  groans  and  curses,  with  an  occasional 
sound  of  breaking  glass,  all  coming  from  the  im- 
prisoned occupants  of  the  up-turned  car. 

Very  few  in  the  car  were  at  first  able  to  grasp 
the  situation  or  understand  what  had  happened. 
Few,  if  any,  had  escaped  without  some  injury,  and 
some  were  badly  hurt,  judging  from  the  groans 
that  were  heard  in  the  darkness.  They  were  all 
enveloped  in  "Cimmerian"  gloom,  the  lamps  hav- 
ing been  extinguished. 

Andrew  had  been  sitting  with  his  arm  thrown 

10 


146  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

across  the  shoulders  of  his  young  comrade  convers- 
ing with  him  when  the  accident  happened,  and 
very  naturally  as  the  position  of  the  car  changed 
he  convulsively  gripped  the  shoulders  of  Alpheus, 
who  immediately  threw  up  his  arms  grasping  a  firm 
hold  of  Andrew,  and  thus  in  a  close  embrace  they 
found  themselves,  when  after  a  moment's  daze, 
they  regained  consciousness. 

Andrew  was  quick  to  realize  their  situation, 
and  his  first  thought  was  of  freedom.  They  knew 
not  what  injuries  they  had  received,  and  at  first 
each  could  not  tell  the  condition  of  the  other.  They 
could  distinguish  above  the  cries  and  groans,  the 
curses  of  some  of  the  guard  as  they  vainly  at- 
tempted to  find  a  light.  It  is  here  we  have  an  ex- 
ample of  the  effect  of  small  things.  The  fact  that 
those  indulging  in  their  pipes  had  about  exhausted 
the  little  stock  of  matches  possessed  by  the  guards, 
and  this  to  a  large  extent  prevented  them  from 
readily  obtaining  a  light,  and  thus  make  an  at- 
tempt to  escape  more  difficult. 

Every  now  and  again  the  crash  of  broken  glass 
evinced  that  some  one  was  struggling  to  make  an 
exit  from  the  car.  Andrew  realized  that  they  must 
now  act,  and  act  quickly. 

So  he  set  about  to   examine   himself  and   see 


THE   ESCAPE.  147 

whether  he  had  the  use  of  his  arms  and  legs,  which 
to  his  great  delight  he  found  to  be  all  right,  al- 
though he  suffered  some  from  the  nervous  shock 
he  had  received  by  the  overturning  of  the  car. 

He  next  sought  to  learn  the  condition  of  his 
friend  and  he  shook  Alpheus  by  the  shoulder,  whis- 
pering in  his  ear  as  loud  as  he  dared,  for  he  did  not 
wish  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  guard. 

"Alpheus,  hey  Alpheus!    Are  you  injured?" 

"Don't  know,  rather  guess  I  am.  But  what 
has  happened?  What's  wrong?"  came  in  a  dazed 
tone. 

"Keep  still!  Only  see  if  you  can  move.  We 
must  now  try  to  make  our  escape,  and  quickly,  too. 
The  car  has  broken  away  from  the  train  and  gone 
over  an  embankment,  and  now  is  our  opportunity 
before  they  bring  a  light.  Do  try  and  see  if  you 
can  move  just  a  little,  so  we  can  get  out  of  the  car." 

Alpheus  made  an  attempt  to  rise  but  sank  back 
with  a  groan,  declaring  he  could  not  stand  upon 
his  feet  for  he  believed  his  left  leg  must  be  broken 
off  at  the  ankle. 

"Can  you  not  hold  yourself  up  against  the  win- 
dow if  I  should  assist  you?" 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  said  the  plucky  young  soldier. 

Andrew  first  tried  to  move  the  sash  of  the  win- 


148  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

(low,  but  the  car  lying  in  a  twist,  he  found  it  resisted 
all  his  efforts.  Determined  to  lose  no  more  time, 
he  dashed  his  foot  through  the  window  sending  the 
glass  flying  in  all  directions.  The  cool  air  came 
rushing  in,  fanning  his  heated  brow  and  adding 
new  strength  to  his  sinews. 

"There  goes  another  Yank,"  shouted  a  guard 
in  the  darkness,  as  the  noise  of  flying  glass  fell  on 
his  ears. 

"Why  the  don't  somebody  strike  a 

light?" 

Andrew  quickly  grasped  his  comrade  and 
dragged  him  up  to  the  window.  He  then  hastily 
made  his  exit  through  the  open  space,  going  feet 
foremost.  He  found  the  ground  only  a  short  dis- 
tance away  and  as  soon  as  his  feet  rested  upon 
"terra-firma,"  he  turned,  and  reaching  in,  seized 
Alpheus  by  the  shoulders  and  carefully  drew  him 
through  the  window. 

The  young  soldier  at  once  sank  down  helpless,, 
for  the  pain  in  his  ankle  was  excruciating.  An  idea 
had  seized  upon  Andrew,  and  he  was  about  to  re- 
enter  the  car,  when  Alpheus  observing  what  his 
companion  was  about  to  do,  at  once  begged  him  ta 
desist. 

"I'll  only  be  gone  a  minute,"  said  Andrew;  "I 


THE   ESCAPE.  149 

want  to  get  one  of  those  muskets  for  you  know  we 
are  unarmed." 

"Oh!  comrade,  don't  leave  me,"  implored  the 
injured  man.  Andrew's  heart  was  touched.  He 
debated  a  moment  in  his  mind  whether  he  should 
make  the  attempt  to  secure  a  musket.  But  the 
matter  was  decided  for  him  by  some  one  striking 
a  light  in  the  car. 

Stooping  down,  he  quickly  drew  his  comrade 
across  his  back  and  carefully  made  his  way  through 
the  tangled  brush  of  the  swamp,  every  now  and 
again  making  a  mis-step  and  sinking  over  shoe-top 
in  the  dark,  slimy  mud.  But  on  he  struggled,  his 
one  great  desire  was  to  get  away  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  hated  guards. 

By  this  time  he  could  hear  loud  voices,  and  he 
rightly  judged  that  some  of  the  guards  had  found 
their  way  outside  of  the  car,  so  with  increased  en- 
ergy he  plodded  on.  Finally  growing  faint,  and 
allowing  his  companion  to  slide  to  the  ground,  he 
leaned  against  a  tree  to  regain  his  breath,  for  he 
felt  weak  from  his  long  fast. 

After  a  brief  rest  he  again  applied  himself  to  his 
task,  and  carried  his  friend  farther  into  the  deep 
recess  of  the  wood.  He  had  reached  higher 
ground  now  and  more  firmer  footing. 


1 50  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

At  last,  finding  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  lying 
in  his  path,  he  placed  Alpheus  upon  it  and  taking 
a  seat  by  his  side,  he  again  rested  and  listened. 
Away  in  the  distance  they  heard  the  whistle  of  an 
approaching  engine.  They  concluded  it  was  the 
train  returning  for  the  missing  car,  and  in  this  con- 
jecture they  were  correct,  although  this  was  not 
learned  until  some  time  after  the  war. 

The  trainmen  not  realizing  that  anything  had 
happened  to  the  rear  of  the  train,  allowed  it  to 
pursue  its  course  until  they  had  covered  some  five 
or  six  miles,  and  then  the  loss  of  the  car  was  dis- 
covered by  a  mere  accident. 

The  engineer  having  run  his  train  on  a  siding 
to  allow  the  up  train  (shortly  due)  to  pass,  the  con- 
ductor, lantern  in  hand,  was  making  an  examina- 
tion of  his  train,  when  to  his  surprise  he  found  the 
passenger  coach  that  had  been  attached  to  the  rear 
of  his  train,  missing. 

The  engineer  was  hastily  notified,  who,  leaving 
a  brakeman  to  signal  the  train  almost  due,  detached 
his  engine  and  tender  and  taking  the  conductor  on 
board,  ran  out  on  the  main  track  and  crowding  on 
steam,  reversed  his  lever  and  hurried  backward  in 
search  of  the  missing  car.  By  this  time  the  moon 
was  beginning  to  show  her  face  above  the  ridge  of 


THE   ESCAPE.  -J5I 

the  hills,  and  objects  could  be  seen  at  quite  a  dis- 
tance along  the  track,  so  they  sped  rapidly  along, 
finally  arriving  at  the  scene  where  the  coach  parted 
from  the  train.  They  stopped  and  looked  down 
with  surprise. 


ANDREW    BENTLKT. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS. 

HE  approach  of  the  coming  engine  was 
listened  to  with  nervous  trepidation  by 
our  two  friends  as  they  sat  together  in 
the  dark  wood,  and  when  it  came  to  a 
stop,  they  were  more  anxious  than  ever  to  put  as 
great  a  distance  between  themselves  and  their 
enemies  as  was  possible.  So  again  taking  Alpheus 
upon  his  back,  Andrew  toiled  bravely  onward. 
The  rising  moon  partly  lit  up  the  dark  forest, 
throwing  long  shadows  from  the  tall  pines.  An- 
drew felt  his  strength  leaving  him,  but  while  he 
was  almost  ready  to  sink  to  the  ground,  he  still  kept 
on  his  way.  At  last  he  felt  he  could  go  no  farther, 
so  placing  his  comrade  carefully  on  the  ground,  he 
stood  and  wiped  the  perspiration  that  was  stream- 
ing from  his  brow. 

Alpheus  insisted  on  trying  to  walk,  so  after 
resting  a  few  moments,  Andrew  assisted  him  to  rise, 
and  the  young  soldier  leaning  heavily  on  the  shoul- 
der of  his  stalwart  friend,  made  a  painful  attempt 


A  NIGHT   IN  THE  WOODS.  153 

to  move  forward.  But  Alpheus  found  he  was  mis- 
taken ;  he  could  make  but  slow  progress,  and  then 
only  with  great  suffering,  so  they  rested  again. 

Happily,  Andrew  perceived  a  dense  growth  of 
underbrush  near  by,  and  leaving  his  comrade's 
side,  he  broke  a  pasage  into  it,  and  finding  this  a 
fairly  good  retreat  and  somewhat  protected  from 
prying  eyes,  after  scraping  some  dead  leaves  to- 
gether, he  returned  to  his  friend,  and  tenderly  pick- 
ing him  up,  bore  him  into  the  thicket  and  placed 
Alpheus  upon  the  couch  improvised  for  him. 

The  young  soldier  looked  up  into  the  face  of  his 
comrade  and  tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  while  his  voice 
was  tremulous  as  he  spoke.  "Andy,  old  boy !  I'm 
afraid  that  I'm  a  burden  to  you,  and  will  interfere 
with  you  making  your  escape.  Had  you  better 
not  leave  me  and  try  to  make  your  way  to  our  lines 
without  me?" 

Andrew  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  "Why, 
Alpheus!  What  are  you  talking  about?  Leave 
you?  No,  never.  Surely  you  would  not  dream 
that  I  could  be  guilty  of  so  base  an  act  as  to  leave 
you  alone  in  this  condition?" 

"Yes,  but  comrade,"  replied  Alpheus,  "you  see 
I  cannot  walk,  and  it  will  be  impossible  for  you  to 


154  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

carry  me,"  and  here  the  poor  fellow  broke  down, 
his  voice  choked  with  sobs. 

Andrew  knelt  by  his  side.  "Alpheus,  my  dear 
boy,  our  agreement  was  that  one  should  not  at- 
tempt to  make  an  escape  unless  the  opportunity 
was  offered  to  the  other  as  well.  Do  you  think  I 
could  ever  forgive  myself  if  I  should  abandon  you 
now?  No!  If  we  are  captured,  it  will  be  to- 
gether and  if  we  escape,  we  shall  escape  together, 
and  we  shall  not  give  up  trying  until  we  reach  our 
lines  if  Andrew  Bentley  has  to  carry  you  the  entire 
distance  on  his  back." 

At  this  moment,  Alpheus  looking  up  at  his 
comrade  through  his  tears,  thought  he  had  never 
seen  a  face  so  beautiful.  "God  bless  you,  my  dear 
friend;  my  ankle  don't  seem  to  pain  me  near  so 
much  when  I  listen  to  your  brave  and  noble  decla- 
ration." 

"Yes,"  said  Andrew,  "that  reminds  me  that  I 
should  have  looked  at  your  injured  limb  before  this 
time,  but  my  mind  was  engrossed  with  other  things. 
I  will  now  see  what  I  can  do  for  it."  And  he  care* 
fully  loosened  his  comrade's  shoe  and  pulling  down 
his  sock  proceeded  as  well  as  he  could,  in  the  un- 
certain moonlight  to  examine  the  hurt. 

He   found  the  ankle  and   surrounding   parts 


A    NIGHT   IN   THE   WOODS.  155 

much  inflamed  and  swollen.  He  was  not  sure, 
but  he  thought  that  no  bones  had  been  broken. 
Possibly  it  might  be  only  a  dislocation  or  severe 
sprain.  At  any  rate,  he  felt  that  he  was  unable  just 
at  that  time  to  relieve  his  friend  very  much.  He 
asked  Alpheus  for  his  handkerchief  and  joining  it 
to  his  own,  he  made  them  into  the  form  of  a  ban- 
dage which  he  bound — as  tightly  as  the  sufferer 
could  bear  it — around  the  injured  part. 

Alpheus  declared  that  Andrew  was  the  making 
of  a  first-class  surgeon,  and  that  if  they  ever  got 
back  to  the  Union  lines  he  would  recommend  him 
for  a  place  upon  the  surgeon's  staff.  They  sat  to- 
gether for  awhile  in  silence,  each  busy  with  his 
own  thoughts. 

The  moon  climbing  higher  in  the  heavens,  now 
sent  her  silvery  beams  down  through  the  dense  fol- 
iage of  the  tall  pines,  making  a  sort  of  wierd  light 
about  them. 

Andrew  feeling  somewhat  rested,  declared  if  he 
did  not  feel  so  weak  from  hunger  he  would  make 
an  attempt  to  push  on  farther  into  the  forest. 

This  aroused  Alpheus,  who  finding  the  pain  in 
his  limb  somewhat  abated,  now  more  keenly  than 
ever  felt  the  pangs  of  hunger,  for  it  had  been  fully 
eighteen  long  hours  since  they  had  tasted  food. 


156  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

"I'd  give  a  month's  pay  to  be  permitted  to  eat  the 
cold  bread  and  bacon  that  I'd  find  at  this  moment 
in  the  pantry  at  home,"  said  the  young  soldier 
plaintively. 

Andrew,  at  the  mention  of  bacon,  seemed  to 
remember  something,  and  quickly  reaching  into 
the  breast  pocket  of  his  blouse,  drew  forth  a  pack- 
age enveloped  in  some  black  muslin,  which  he  care- 
fully unfolded,  revealing  something  wrapped  up  in 
what  appeared  to  be  an  old  letter.  This  our  hero 
removed,  placing  the  paper  in  his  pocket,  and  held 
up  to  view  a  piece  of  greasy  bacon. 

Alpheus,  who  had  been  closely  watching  the 
movements  of  his  companion,  uttered  a  cry  of  glad 
surprise,  "Where  in  all  creation  did  you  get  that?" 

"In  my  pocket,"  quietly  replied  his  comrade, 
making  an  examination  of  his  precious  find. 

"Well,  can't  you  just  reach  into  your  pocket 
again  and  perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  draw  forth 
a  loaf  of  bread  or  some  hard  tack,"  said  Alpheus 
jocosely. 

Andrew  said  he  was  not  so  much  of  a  wizard  as 
that,  although  he  would  be  mighty  glad  to  do  so  if 
he  could. 

Securing  the  loan  of  Alpheus'  pocket  knife,  he 
cut  the  meat  in  two  pieces,  handing  his  comrade  a 


A   NIGHT   IN   THE   WOODS.  1 57 

trifle  the  larger  piece.  They  both,  without  any 
further  ceremony  greedily  devoured  their  greasy 
portion,  sorrowful  as  the  last  bite  disappeared  down 
their  throats  that  there  was  no  more.  Hunger 
truly  imparts  flavor  to  any  sauce,  for  here  were  two 
men  who,  under  any  other  conditions,  would  have 
hesitated  to  attack  a  repellant  piece  of  greasy,  raw 
bacon,  and  when  they  had  finished  it  long  for 
more.  Andrew  informed  his  companion  how  he 
came  into  possession  of  the  meat,  and  regretted 
now  that  he  had  not  laid  in  a  supply  of  other  food. 
The  allowance  for  each  was  small,  not  sufficient  to 
fully  stay  the  pangs  of  hunger,  but  they  had  noth- 
ing else,  so  philosophically  accepted  the  situation 
and  tried  not  to  murmur. 

They  decided  that  as  they  stood  much  in  need 
of  information  as  to  their  whereabouts,  it  was  bet- 
ter to  stay  where  they  were,  and  in  the  morning 
for  Andrew  to  make  a  reconnoisance.  They  did 
not  apprehend  that  any  pursuit  would  be  made  that 
night,  yet  did  not  like  to  risk  traveling  any  farther 
for  fear  they  might  be  running  into  danger.  They 
were  both  weary  and  the  moon  having  become  ob- 
scured by  heavy  clouds  floating  in  the  sky,  it  grew 
dark  within  the  thicket.  So  burrowing  deeper  into 
their  beds  of  leaves,  they  ceased  conversing  and  lay 
quite  still. 


158  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

The  afternoon  and  evening  had  been  quite  sul- 
try as  well  as  the  earlier  part  of  the  night.  But 
now  a  slight  wind  had  arisen  and  soughed  through 
the  pine  tree-tops  with  a  mournful  sound.  An- 
drew could  not  tell  what  time  of  night  it  might  be, 
but  he  judged  it  must  be  past  midnight.  He  no- 
ticed that  the  face  of  the  sky  had  undergone  a 
change  in  the  last  half  hour.  The  face  of  the  moon 
was  now  entirely  hid  by  the  clouds,  and  the  air  was 
indicative  of  a  downpour  of  rain  before  morning. 

Andrew  tried  to  think  out  a  plan  of  action,  but 
nothing  lucid  appeared  to  his  mind.  His  eyelids 
were  growing  heavy,  and  ere  long  he  stretched 
himself  out  alongside  of  his  companion,  who  was 
already  locked  in  slumber.  He  soon  joined  him  in 
dreamland,  and  there  within  the  depths  of  a  Caro- 
lina pine  forest  our  two  soldier  boys  slumbered  as 
peacefully  as  though  under  the  home-roof  on  the 
Western  slope  of  the  Alleghenies. 

How  long  they  slept,  they  did  not  know,  but 
they  were  awakened  by  a  terrific  roaring  of  the 
wind  as  it  swept  through  the  tree-tops,  causing  the 
tall  pines  to  sway  back  and  forth  as  though  they 
were  bowing  to  the  mighty  power  that  so  rudely 
disturbed  them.  Every  now  and  again  a  dead 
branch  wrenched  from  its  fastening  came  swoop- 


A   NIGHT   IN   THE   WOODS.  159 

ing  to  the  ground,  while  the  dry  leaves  were  caught 
up  by  the  undercurrent  and  swept  through  the 
wood  like  a  snow  storm. 

Soon  the  lightning  began  to  flash  athwart  the 
sky,  followed  by  heavy  peals  of  thunder,  which 
sounded  in  the  ears  of  the  now  thoroughly  aroused 
sleepers,  as  though  a  fierce  artillery  duel  was  in 
progress.  Then  there  came  a  lull,  the  wind  ceased 
to  blow,  and  then  it  seemed  as  though  the  flood 
gates  of  the  clouds  had  burst  from  their  fastenings. 

The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  coming  straight  down, 
penetrating  every  nook  and  corner.  Any  ordinary 
shelter  would  have  proven  insufficient  for  protec- 
tion, and  our  two  friends  having  nothing  whatever 
to  cover  them  were  soon  drenched  from  head  to 
foot. 

Andrew  thoughtfully  took  his  comrade's  cap 
and  his  own,  and  turning  them  inside  out,  man- 
aged to  catch  a  few  mouthfuls  of  rain  water,  which 
Alpheus  declared  tasted  almost  as  good  as  the  ba- 
con. 

"Yes,"  replied  Andrew  with  a  sly  twinkle  in  his 

clear  blue  eye ;  "not  quite  so  good,  though,  as  that 

apple-jack  in  that  old  canteen  would  taste  had  we 

it  here/' 

;  >  "Now,  Andy,  I  think  it  is  time  to  let  up  on  that 


l6o  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

apple-jack,"  said  his  comrade,  who  still  felt  a  cha- 
grin at  the  way  they  had  been  gobbled  up,  as  he 
chose  to  term  it. 

"I  was  only  joking,  comrade,"  said  Andrew. 
"Never  mind  what  I  say." 

Andrew's  propensity  to  tease  was  always  pre- 
dominant, and  though  grave  their  situation,  he 
could  not  refrain  from  making  occasional  refer- 
ence to  the  prime  origin  of  their  present  condition. 

The  rain  after  flooding  hill  and  dale,  abruptly 
ceased  falling.  It  had  grown  light  by  this  time 
and  the  rising  sun  sent  its  gleams  through  the 
wood,  warming  up  the  atmosphere  and  resting 
upon  the  drops  of  rain  yet  clinging  to  the  leaves, 
making  the  forest  trees  look  as  though  bedecked 
with  a  coronet  of  pearls. 

Our  two  soldier  boys  hailed  the  rain  storm  with 
delight.  True,  they  were  wet  to  the  skin,  but  their 
clothing  would  soon  dry  as  the  weather  was  warm. 

With  the  fall  of  rain,  the  earth  was  saturated 
with  water,  and  thus  all  scent  of  their  foot  steps 
had  been  washed  away,  effectively  preventing  their 
being  tracked  and  hunted  down  like  wild  beasts  by 
the  blood  hounds  their  enemies  usually  put  upon 
the  track  of  escaping  prisoners. 

Again,  the  air  was  more  buoyant  and  fresh  from 


A  NIGHT   IN  THE  WOODS.  l6l 

its  cleansing  and  our  two  friends,  notwithstanding 
their  forlorn  condition,  felt  in  better  spirits  than 
the  night  before.  This  was  no  doubt  in  part  due 
from  their  rest,  and  the  short  slumber  they  had  both 
enjoyed.  After  a  short  conference  it  was  decided 
that  Alpheus  should  remain  where  he  was,  while 
Andrew  would  make  a  survey  of  their  surroundings 
and  learn  what  he  could  of  their  chances  for  escape. 

Our  hero  started  out  with  but  a  faint  hope  in 
his  heart  of  being  able  to  learn  anything,  as  he 
feared  the  pine  forest  was  one  of  the  many  exten- 
sive tracts  of  woodland  found  in  North  Carolina 
which  covered  many  acres  in  extent. 

He  was  quite  anxious  that  he  should  find  some- 
thing that  would  serve  as  food  for  his  famishing 
friend  as  well  as  himself. 

Kind  reader,  just  allow  your  stretch  of  imagina- 
tion to  place  you  in  a  like  predicament  as  Andrew 
now  found  himself  to  be  in.  Weak  and  languid 
from  long  fasting;  in  a  dense  forest  with  no 
knowledge  of  his  surroundings,  unarmed  and  in- 
capable of  defending  himself  from  an  enemy  that 
in  all  probability  might  be  even  now  upon  their 
tracks.  Besides,  he  knew  not  what  wild  animals 
might  infest  the  woods.  Then  he  had  an  injured 

II 


1 62  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

comrade  unable  to  walk,  to  care  for.  Surely  his 
position  was  not  an  enviable  one. 

But  Andrew  Bentley  was  a  man  of  strong  will 
and  determination,  and  although  he  was  not  serv- 
ing in  the  ranks  from  his  own  volition,  yet  he  would 
return,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  his  comrade.  Come 
what  may,  he  would  never  desert  Alpheus  Forest 
in  his  extremity. 

He  first  thought  he  would  endeavor  if  possible 
to  learn  something  of  his  enemies,  so  he  made  a 
detour  in  the  direction  in  which  he  supposed  the 
railroad  track  to  lie.  He  found  that  in  their  jour- 
neying during  the  early  part  of  the  night,  that  they 
had  reached  much  higher  ground  than  the  sur- 
rounding country.  He  had  not  proceeded  far  un- 
til he  came  to  a  point  where  he  could  see  the  bright 
lines  of  the  railway  track  stretching  far  away  in 
the  distance,  glinting  in  the  bright  sunlight,  but  no 
sight  of  any  car  over  an  embankment  could  be  seen. 

He  then  turned  and  walked  in  an  opposite  di- 
rection from  the  one  in  which  he  had  been  travel- 
ing, and  after  going  a  hundred  yards  or  more,  he 
again  sought  a  view  of  the  railroad,  looking  this 
time  in  an  opposite  direction  from  the  time  before. 
There  in  the  distance  lay  what  appeared  to  be 
a  car  with  one  end  protruding  from  among  the  low 


A  NIGHT   IN  THE  WOODS.  163 

brush.  He  obtained  a  better  view  and  looked 
long  and  earnestly.  Yes,  it  was  the  car  in  which 
they  had  journeyed  from  Lynchburg.  But  all  was 
still  and  silent  around  it,  not  a  sign  of  a  living  thing 
could  be  seen. 

Andrew  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  all  this  si- 
lence could  mean.  Surely  they  were  not  all  dead, 
nor  was  it  probable  that  they  had  left  the  car.  But 
he  had  no  means  of  finding  out  and  he  dared  not 
approach  much  closer.  Then  he  reasoned.  What 
did  it  matter  to  him?  True,  there  might  be  Union 
men  still  in  the  toils,  but  if  so,  how  could  he  render 
them  any  aid?  Their  situation  was  largely  like 
the  French  in  their  defeat  at  Waterloo.  It  was 
truly  a  case  of  "Sauve  qui  peut !"  ("Save  himself 
who  can!")  and  so  Andrew  retraced  his  steps  to 
where  he  had  left  his  comrade.  This  would  have 
been  somewhat  difficult  for  him  to  do  had  he  not 
scattered  a  few  broken  branches  along  the  way  to 
guide  him  on  his  return. 

He  related  to  his  friend  what  he  had  seen,  then 
proposed  to  reconnoitre  in  a  different  direction. 
Alpheus  was  loathe  to  have  his  friend  leave  him 
again,  but  it  was  very  necessary  that  they  learn  the 
better  way  to  travel  on  their  journey ;  besides,  there 
was  a  vain  hope  of  Andrew  finding  something  to 


164  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

stay  the  pangs  of  hunger  that  now  began  to  be  felt 
by  both  of  them  quite  keenly. 

Promising  to  return  soon,  Andrew  set  out, 
marking  the  way  for  his  return  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  he  did  before.  He  had  worked  his  way  a 
considerable  distance  into  the  forest  when  he  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  an  axe  falling  faintly  upon 
his  ear. 

At  first  he  thought  his  sense  of  hearing  had  de- 
ceived him.  He  stopped  and  listened.  Yes, 
there  he  heard  it  again.  Must  be  at  quite  a  dis- 
tance he  thought.  He  now  debated  in  his  mind 
whether  he  should  advance  or  return.  If  he  should 
go  forward  and  meet  with  those  who  were  his  ene- 
mies, be  discovered  and  captured,  what  would  be- 
come of  his  helpless  comrade  waiting  for  his  return? 
Still  if  he  expected  to  accomplish  anything  he  must 
take  some  chances.  He  at  last  determined  to 
proceed  cautiously  and  find  out  all  he  could  with- 
out being  discovered.  So  he  stepped  lightly 
through  the  wood,  keeping  as  much  as  possible 
within  the  shade  of  the  trees.  Louder  and  louder, 
sounded  the  strokes  of  the  axe  as  he  approached 
nearer, 

Andrew  felt  that  the  wood-chopper,  whoever 
he  might  be,  was  evidently  alone.  He  now  exer- 


A   NIGHT   IN   THE   WOODS.  165 

cised  greater  caution  for  he  did  not  wish  to  be  ob- 
served, should  the  man  with  the  axe  prove  to  be 
unfriendly.  So  quietly  stepping  from  tree  to  tree, 
he  slowly  approached  and  gaining  the  shelter  of 
a  large  pine  he  cautiously  peered  out  from  behind 
its  trunk. 

The  sight  that  met  his  eyes  caused  his  heart  to 
give  a  throb  of  joy.  An  aged  negro  with  skin  as 
black  as  ebony  stood  upon  a  fallen  pine,  one  of  the 
victims  of  the  late  storm.  He  was  plying  his  axe 
with  unusual  vigor.  His  arms  were  bared  to  the 
elbows,  and  showed  a  mass  of  knotted  sinews. 
While  our  hero  looked,  he  paused,  and  drawing 
forth  a  much  faded  red  cotton  handkerchief,  vig- 
orously mopped  his  face  and  brow,  from  which 
were  streaming  large  drops  of  perspiration.  He 
seemed  to  be  addressing  some  one,  and  just  then 
Andrew  caught  sight  of  a  negro  lad  probably  ten 
years  of  age,  who  was  playfully  gathering  the  chips 
that  flew  from  the  log  as  the  old  man's  axe  clove 
the  resinous  pine.  The  boy  was  attired  in  a  blue 
cotton  shirt,  with  patches  of  various  colors,  an  old 
ragged  pair  of  brown  overalls,  much  too  large  for 
him,  enveloped  his  legs,  but  his  round  chubby  face 
evinced  that  he  was  the  possessor  of  good  health  if 
he  didn't  sport  good  clothes. 


.  :  "-  rr:  ::  :i* 

:: 


•dofadMTuralcokir, 
tic*  be  corid  aidr  approach.    For 


tibe  axe  feB 
Tfeebor 


Wfa !     Who  de  MM  ate  JOIMC? 


^  -^  •r^      -        ^  -       ,  .^^MhM^^  ^£^fl^h^^^fc^      M&*~*>*-        **  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

on  MCB^  aaa  MC  ^^rc  CTKKMcr  tnac  it  JPCNWI  not 
to  Make  bitMseff  also,  fty^  a 


«o  tibr  a(^4  acgro,  wbo  after  a 
to  p(acc  ]•§  own, 


!   Yoosea 

-  ~-   *>  j>—  -    «  -  -  -    ~ 

ll  B  loBCl.  TI>. 


:  :    ~ -.;.:  , 


1 68  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

"An'  youse  a  Linkum  sojer?  An'  yer  meanter 
say  youse  a  pris'ner?" 

"No,  not  just  now,"  replied  Andrew  pleasantly. 
"My  comrade  and  I  made  our  escape  last  night." 

"An*  youse  shore  youse  a  Linkum  sojer?"  And 
the  black  man  passed  his  hands  over  Andrew's 
blouse  and  rested  caressingly  upon  the  brass  but- 
tons. It  was  evident  that  Andrew  was  the  first 
man  he  had  ever  seen  of  that  great  army,  whom  he 
had  been  told  had  come  to  give  freedom  to  those 
of  his  race. 

"An'  dese  are  de  close  Mar's  Linkum  dres'  his 
men  in?  An'  do  dey  all  hev'  butons  like  dese  wif 
de  picter  of  a  chicken  on?"  And  he  again  fingered 
the  buttons,  gazing  intently  at  the  spread  eagle 
outlined  thereupon. 

"That  is  the  picture  of  the  'Bird  of  Freedom,'  " 
said  Andrew,  for  he  felt  amused  at  the  child-like 
simplicity  of  the  old  man.  "Did  you  ever  hear  of 
that  bird?" 

The  aged  darkey  shook  his  head,  while  he  mut- 
tered, "Mos'  likely  sum  of  dem  bu'ds  dat  Mar's 
Linkum  keep."  Then  speaking  louder,  "No,  we 
doan  hev  dat  bu'd  down  yer."  The  poor  African 
made  a  truthul  statement.  His  race  knew  no  bird 
of  freedom. 


'A;*'  youse  a  Linkt.  m  sojer  ?" 


A   NIGHT    IN   THE   WOODS.  I/I 

Andrew  reminded  his  colored  auditor  that  he 
and  his  comrade  had  been  out  in  the  rain  last  night, 
and  that  they  were  very  hungry.  This  seemed  to 
arouse  the  old  man  from  the  spell  which  had  come 
over  him  at  this — his  first  sight  of  a  "Linkum  so- 
jer" — as  he  termed  our  hero. 

Turning  around,  he  caught  sight  of  the  boy 
whose  head  was  now  protruding  from  the  brush, 
his  curiosity  having  overcome  his  fears. 

"Here  youse  brack  scamp!  Cum  youse  rite 
out  here  now,  go  long  quick,  an'  tell  mammy  to 
sen'  rite  off  sum  cold  pone  an'  roast  taters."  The 
lad  needed  not  a  second  bidding.  But  coming 
forth  from  his  retreat,  he  dashed  off  among  the 
trees. 

"Hi  dar !"  shouted  the  ole  man,  "Jist  tell  mam- 
my to  add  a  little  cawfee,  an'  tell  her  to  make  um 
rale  hot."  The  messenger  paused  for  a  moment, 
then  sped  on. 

"An'  duz  Mar's  Linkum  dres  all  his  men  dis 
way?"  again  inquired  the  admiring  darkey. 

Andrew  assured  him  he  did. 

"Well !  Well !  How's  he  gwine  to  tell  youse 
apart  when  he  wants  youse?" 

Andrew  seated  himself  upon  the  fallen  tree  and 
tried  to  explain  to  the  wondering  man,  but  soon 


1/2  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

gave  it  up  for  a  bad  job.  The  intellect  of  the  aged 
darkey  could  not  grasp  things  in  the  abstract.  He 
listened  with  open-eyed  wonder  as  Andrew  re- 
lated to  him  of  the  wreck  of  the  car,  and  the  escape 
of  himself  and  the  injured  Alpheus,  and  their  de- 
sire to  get  some  assistance  in  making  their  way 
back  to  the  Union  lines.  The  old  darkey  readily 
agreed  to  lend  all  the  assitance  in  his  power,  for 
he  felt  highly  honored  in  being  allowed  to  do  some- 
thing for  the  great  cause  of  freedom. 

"Uncle,  did  you  ever  see  any  soldiers  down  this 
way?"  said  Andrew. 

"Yes,  sah,  but  dey's  all  Confed'rit.  I  hearn 
tell  dey's  sum  of  youse  Linkum  men  down  ter 
Sals'bury,  but  den  dey's  all  prisoners.  Nevah  seen 
one  dough." 

Andrew  asked  him  if  there  might  not  be  dan- 
ger of  a  pursuit  with  dogs? 

"Can't  tell,  Mar's,  hardly  tink  dog  much  ac- 
count since  dat  rain  last  nite ;  wash  away  all  smell." 
This  was  true  although  our  two  friends  did  not  fully 
realize  how  great  a  blessing  the  flood  of  rain 
proved  to  be.  But  we  will  speak  of  this  later. 

The  youngster  whom  the  old  man  addressed 
as  Tony,  it  being  the  short  for  Anthony,  arrived  by 
this  time  with  a  basket  in  which  were  several  pieces 


A   NIGHT    IN   THE   WOODS. 

of  nice,  well-browned  corn  bread,  a  few  baked  po- 
tatoes, with  some  salt,  and  a  jar  about  half  full  of 
hot  coffee,  the  whole  covered  with  a  worn  piece  of 
linen  of  snowy  whiteness. 

Andrew  thanked  the  boy,  who  grinned  and  dis- 
played a  full  row. of  ivories  while  if  he  blushed,  the 
color  was  not  perceptible. 

"Can't  youse  bow  to  de  gemman,  youse  brack 
imp?  Hain't  youse  grandaddy  done  teach  youse 
more  manners  as  dat?"  At  this  outburst  from  the 
aged  man,  the  lad  doffed  his  old  straw  hat  and  made 
a  bow  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  Chester- 
field. 

It  had  been  decided  that  the  best  plan  was  for 
the  two  escaped  prisoners  to  remain  in  their  place 
of  concealment  until  the  shades  of  evening,  when 
the  negro  would  come  and  conduct  them  to  his 
cabin. 

By  command  of  his  grandparent,  Tony  accom- 
panied Andrew  in  order  to  bring  back  the  basket 
and  also  learn  the  way  that  he  might  be  able  to 
conduct  the  old  man  to  our  soldiers'  hiding  place 
later  in  the  day. 


1/4  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

KINDNESS  OF  THE  SLAVE. 

REAT  Jehosaphat !"  exclaimed  Alpheus, 
when  after  what  seemed  to  him  an  in- 
terminable  long  absence,  Andrew  re- 
turned  with  the  boy  at  his  side.  "I  was 
sure,  old  boy,  that  they  had  gobbled  you  again,  you 
stayed  so  long.  And  who's  this?"  he  said,  looking 
at  Tony. 

"This  is  a  young  friend  whom  I  found  with  his 
grandfather  a  short  distance  away  cutting  wood. 
But  see  here's  the  best  thing  of  all  that  I  found," 
and  he  held  up  the  basket. 

"Food!"  ejaculated  Alpheus;  "where  on  earth 
did  you  get  it?"  And  as  Andrew  removed  the 
cover  from  the  basket,  his  comrade  looked  in  with 
a  glad  surprise  written  on  his  face. 

"Surely  you  are  a  magician,  Andy;  first  you 
reach  into  your  pocket  and  draw  forth  a  piece  of 
pork,  next  you  go  forth  in  a  dense  forest,  and  bring 
back  a  basket  with  some  nice  food."  And  with 
this  he  plunged  his  hand  into  the  basket  and  seiz- 


KINDNESS  OF  THE  SLAVE.          1/5 

ing  a  piece  of  corn  bread,  together  with  a  potato, 
he  proceeded  to  take  a  bite,  first  of  one  and  then  of 
the  other.  His  companion  did  likewise  and  ere 
long  the  basket  was  empty. 

They  divided  the  coffee,  first  one  drinking  the 
half,  and  then  the  other  draining  the  vessel  of  the 
remainder.  All  the  while,  the  boy  stood  by  in 
open  eyed  wonder,  not  saying  a  single  word  but 
doing  an  immense  amount  of  thinking,  for  he  had 
never  seen  men  eat  so  ravenously  before. 

When  they  had  finished  their  meal,  he  took  the 
basket  and  hurried  back  to  his  grandparent,  de- 
claring, "Dey's  de  hungriest  men  I  eber  se'ed  in  all 
my  bo'n  days." 

The  old  man  was  so  excited  he  could  do  no 
more  work  that  day,  so  declaring  to  the  boy,  "Fse 
guess  I  done  got  'miff  wood  fer  dis  time,"  he  gath- 
ered up  some  sticks  and  bidding  the  boy  do  the 
same,  he  threw  his  axe  over  his  shoulder  and 
started  for  his  cabin.  This  was  a  red  letter  day  to 
the  poor  old  slave,  and  he  could  hardly  contain 
himself  until  he  broke  the  news  to  his  old  Mandy, 
that  he  had  this  day  communioned  "wif  a  rale  Lin- 
kum  sojer"  (as  he  termed  it),  and  that  another  was 
lying  in  the  wood  injured. 

"Go  way,  Eben,  youse  old  fool,"  said  his  better 


ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

half.  "No  Linkum  sojers  down  dis  way,  'ceptin 
dem  as  is  in  de  prison  down  at  Sals'bury." 

"Yes  deed  dey  is,  rale  white  Linkum  men  jist 
'scaped  and  we  must  help  dem,  else  Mar's  Linkum 
be  rale  mad  at  us  if  he's  fine  it  out." 

This  argument  settled  it  with  the  old  negress, 
and  she  fell  to  work  to  remove  some  barrels  and 
boxes  from  an  excavation  'neath  the  floor  of  the 
cabin,  where  they  usually  stored  their  small  stock 
of  cabbage  and  potatoes  for  the  winter. 

This  done,  she  took  down  some  raccoon  skins 
from  the  wall  and  placed  them  upon  the  bottom, 
thus  forming  a  soft  rug.  She  robbed  her  own  bed 
of  an  old  dingy  coverlet,  which  she  carefully  hung 
around  the  sides  to  hide  out  the  sight  of  the  ground. 
Next  she  hunted  up  an  old  canvas  bag,  in  which 
her  husband  used  to  tote  his  potatoes  from  the  field, 
and  taking  Tony  with  her,  she  went  to  the  woods 
and  raking  together  some  dead  leaves,  they  filled 
it,  and  bringing  it  to  the  house,  she  placed  it  in  the 
underground  apartment  remarking  to  herself, 
"Dat'll  do  fer  de  one  who  Eben  sez  is  injered." 

Then  she  visited  the  potato  patch  and  vigor- 
ously plying  the  hoe  for  a  short  time,  soon  returned 
to  the  cabin  with  a  goodly  supply  of  sweet  potatoes 
which  she  washed  and  prepared  for  roasting. 


KINDNESS   OF    THE   SLAVE. 

Next  she  proceeded  to  mix  up  some  corn  meal 
and  water  to  a  consistency,  and  enveloping  it  in 
some  damp  linen,  she  raked  out  the  ashes  and  plac- 
ing it  therein,  carefully  covered  it  over  with  more 
hot  coals  and  left  it  to  bake,  declaring  "Dat  men  as 
hungry  as  her  Tony  said  dose  men  were,  would  no 
doubt  be  able  to  eat  consid'able." 

Then  Tony  was  called  and  given  a  few  instruc- 
tions and  soon  the  squawking  of  a  feathered  biped 
revealed  the  import  of  his  mission. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  the  old  slave  was 
not  idle.  He  had  cut  two  long  poles  from  which 
he  had  trimmed  all  branches.  Next  he  sought  a 
tree  in  the  forest  known  as  the  elm,  and  from  this 
he  stripped  long  pieces  of  a  kind  of  stringy  bark, 
which,  after  laying  the  poles  about  three  feet  apart, 
he  wound  and  plaited  the  bark  back  and  forth,  un- 
til he  had  improvised  a  sort  of  stretcher  sufficiently 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  weight  of  an  ordinary 
sized  man. 

He  had  learned  from  Andrew  that  his  com- 
rade had  a  badly  injured  ankle  and  with  this 
thought  in  mind,  the  faithful  fellow  betook  himself 
again  to  the  forest,  where,  after  sometime  spent  in 
a  diligent  search,  he  returned  with  a  quantity  of 
roots  and  bark,  part  of  which  he  first  pounded  and 

12 


ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

then  steeping  them  in  boiling  water,  he  set  it  by, 
ready  to  bathe  the  limb  of  the  sufferer  when  he 
should  arrive. 

Andrew  and  his  friend  Alpheus,  after  appeasing 
their  hunger,  sat  and  conversed  for  some  time. 
Then  his  comrade  complaining  of  his  injured  limb 
paining  him,  our  hero  proceeded  to  examine  it. 
This  he  could  do  better  than  the  night  before,  as  he 
had  a  better  light.  He  found  the  ankle  still  in  a 
swollen  condition,  though  apparently  not  so  bad 
as  the  night  previous.  He  could  do  nothing  but 
carefully  replace  the  bandage,  but  promised  the 
sufferer  to  give  it  his  immediate  attention  as  soon 
as  they  arrived  at  the  negro's  cabin. 

There  was  now  nothing  else  to  do  but  wait  for 
the  coming  of  their  dusky  benefactor.  Alpheus 
declared  that  sleeping  was  as  cheap  as  keeping 
awake,  stretched  himself  out  upon  his  bed  of  damp 
leaves,  and  though  it  was  far  from  being  comfort- 
able, was  soon  breathing  heavily.  Andrew  did  not 
deem  it  best  for  both  to  lose  themselves  in  slumber, 
so  concluded  he  had  better  keep  a  watch  for  fear  of 
a  pursuit. 

The  long  afternoon  was  wearing  away  and  the 
shadows  were  falling,  Andrew  keeping  faithful 
vigil  by  the  side  of  his  friend.  Alpheus  after  slum- 


KINDNESS   OF    THE   SLAVE.  179 

bering  for  several  hours,  at  last  awoke  and  rubbing 
his  eyes  sat  up.  It  was  fully  a  minute  before  he  real- 
ized his  surroundings.  Observing  his  comrade  sit- 
ting so  quietly  by  his  side,  the  impulsive  boy  threw 
his  arm  around  Andrew's  neck  and  burst  forth  with, 
"Oh,  you  good,  faithful  Andy,  here  you  have  been 
watching  while  I  have  been  sleeping." 

His  comrade  assured  him  that  it  was  all  right. 
That  he  preferred  to  keep  awake  as  he  was  not  sure 
but  there  might  be  pursuers  upon  their  track,  and 
he  didn't  want  to  be  caught  napping. 

"Do  you  think  the  old  darkey  will  come  for  us?" 
said  Alpheus. 

"Without  a  doubt,"  replied  his  comrade.  "I 
never  saw  a  man  so  full  of  admiration  and  so  de- 
sirous of  aiding  a  Union  soldier." 

"Well,  I  guess  we'll  just  have  to  wait  'till  he 
comes,"  said  Alpheus,  almost  peevishly.  Poor  boy, 
he  was  weak  from  hunger  and  the  trying  experience 
he  was  passing  through  unnerved  him. 

While  they  are  patiently  waiting  the  com- 
ing of  night  and  their  sable  benefactor,  we  might  go 
back  a  little  and  inform  our  readers  of  what  took 
place  at  the  scene  of  the  accident,  although  the 
events  we  are  now  about  to  record  were  not  known 


1 8O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

until  sometime  after  the  white  winged  angel  of 
peace  had  spread  her  wings  over  a  once  more  re- 
united nation. 

We  left  the  engineer  with  his  fireman  and  con- 
ductor standing  in  the  moonlight  looking  down  at 
the  upturned  coach.  And,  as  they  did  so,  it 
dawned  upon  all  three,  how  futile  it  was  for  them 
to  return  with  the  bare  engine  and  tender. 

Of  the  score  of  prisoners  who  had  been  con- 
fined in  the  car,  only  six  of  those  who  remained 
were  without  any  apparent  injury  except  a  few 
bruises.  One  had  been  killed  outright  by  being 
trampled  upon  in  the  darkness.  Three  had  es- 
caped. Why  there  were  not  more,  we  are  unable 
to  say  as  an  opportunity  was  offered  to  all  who  were 
able  to  leave  the  car.  The  remaining  ten  were 
more  or  less  injured;  some  had  broken  legs,  others 
broken  arms,  and  others  injured  internally.  Of  the 
guards,  but  few  had  escaped  without  slight  injury, 
but  only  one  or  two  were  found  unable  to  do  guard 
duty. 

The  engineer  seeing  he  could  do  nothing,  and 
knowing  he  was  delaying  the  northward  bound 
train,  bade  the  guard  await  his  return,  and  went 
thundering  back  to  where  he  had  left  his  train 
standing  on  the  siding.  Arriving  there  he  found 


KINDNESS  OF  THE  SLAVE.          l8l 

the  north-bound  train  waiting.  He  at  once  ran 
his  engine  in  on  the  siding,  giving  the  waiting  train 
a  clear  track,  which  at  once  proceeded  on  its  way. 

The  conductor  then  detached  two  empty 
box  cars  and  coupling  them  fast  to  the  engine,  and 
taking  on  some  extra  guards,  who  had  remained 
on  the  freight  train,  they  hurried  back  to  the  scene 
of  the  accident. 

Once  there,  they  set  about  carrying  those  of  the 
guard  who  were  unable  to  walk  to  one  of  the  box 
cars  and  placing  them  therein,  they  next  transferred 
the  worst  injured  prisoners  to  the  other  box  car, 
then  others  not  so  badly  injured,  until  finally  all 
were  safe  on  board.  The  one  Union  soldier  who 
had  yielded  up  his  life  in  the  accident,  was  without 
ceremony  thrown  into  a  shallow  ditch  nearby  and 
covered  by  some  underbrush,  there  to  rest  in  what 
might  be  considered  a  poor  pretext  for  a  grave,  un- 
knelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown  until  the  resur- 
rection morn,  while  in  the  many  weary  years  to 
come  a  vacant  chair  will  stand  in  some  Northern 
home,  waiting  for  a  form  that  will  never  occupy  it, 
and  weary  eyes  will  grow  dim  watching  for  a  loved 
one  that  will  ne'er  return.  When  their  work  was 
completed  they  made  haste  back  to  that  portion  of 
the  train  left  upon  the  siding,  where  all  was  soon 


182 


ANDREW     BENTLEY. 


connected  together,  and  the  engine  once  more  in 
front,  the  train  went  dashing  off  toward  Salisbury 
where  it  arrived  sometime  after  midnight. 

There  the  prisoners  regardless  of  their  suffer- 
ing, were  hustled  out  of  their  car  and  placed  with- 
in the  stockade  where  they  were  soon  lost  sight  of 
in  the  great  mass  of  common  sufferers  who  were 
wasting  away  in  the  many  prison  pens  of  the  South. 

A  report  was  made  of  the  loss  of  the  car,  and  the 
escape  of  the  prisoners.  In  the  morning  a  wreck 
train  crew  was  sent  out  to  see  what  could  be  done 
with  the  overturned  coach.  Accompanying  them 
were  a  few  soldiers  with  a  dog.  The  trainmen 
made  an  attempt  to  place  the  car  upon  the  track 
but  failed,  then  set  it  on  fire  and  soon  a  heap  of 
smouldering  ashes  marked  the  resting  place  of  the 
ill-fated  coach. 

The  soldiers  made  repeated  efforts  to  have  the 
dog  take  the  trail  of  the  fugitives,  but  owing  to  the 
copious  rainfall  of  the  night,  all  trace  of  those  es- 
caping was  obliterated,  and  ere  long  the  attempt  to 
recapture  the  runaways  was  given  up  in  disgust. 
Although  the  escaping  prisoners  not  being  aware 
of  this,  suffered  as  much  apprehension  of  mind  as 
though  a  pursuit  was  being  made. 


KINDNESS   OF    THE   SLAVE.  183 

The  shades  of  evening  had  now  fallen  upon  the 
forest,  and  the  gloom  had  crept  into  the  thicket 
where  our  two  friends  sat  waiting.  They  were 
expecting  every  minute  to  hear  the  approach 
of  the  darkey.  Alpheus,  who  had  been  rather 
skeptical  regarding  the  promised  assistance  from 
their  colored  friend,  now  broke  forth.  He  de- 
clared that  he  did  not  think  the  man  meant  to  come 
for  them.  But  Andrew  who  still  had  faith  in  the 
promises  of  his  old  black  friend,  bade  his  comrade 
be  patient  just  a  little  longer. 

At  last  Andrew's  promise  to  his  friend  was 
verified.  A  slight  noise  was  heard  outside  the 
thicket,  and  soon  the  boy  put  in  an  appearance, 
followed  by  the  od  man  carrying  on  his  shoulder  his 
home-made  stretcher. 

He  apologized  for  his  delay  by  saying  that  he 
made  "consid'able  'zamination  of  de  woods  fer  tu 
see  ef  dere  was  enny  sojers  wif  dorgs  around.  I 
reckon  youse  doan  know  dat  de  way  dey's  hunt 
'scaped  pris'ners  an  brack  people  is  wif  dem  big 
dorgs.  I'se  tel  you  dem  dorgs  means  bizness  when 
dey's  gits  arter  a  feller.  He's  almost  ketched  ter 
once.  Dem  dorgs  de  po'fullest  critters  youse  eber 
se'ed,  sho's  yo'  born." 

It's  no  telling  how  long  the  negro  would  have 


1 84  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

kept  up  this  discourse  on  "dorgs"  had  not  Andrew 
intimated  that  they  were  anxious  to  be  away.  Al- 
pheus  was  at  once  carefully  placed  upon  the  littler 
provided  by  the  slave,  and  soon  they  were  on  their 
way  to  his  cabin,  Andrew  and  the  old  darkey  carry- 
ing Alpheus  and  the  boy  walking  in  front  leading 
the  way. 

They  walked  through  the  forest  for  a  long  time 
in  silence.  At  length  they  paused  for  a  short  rest. 

"Youse  fren'  need  some  'tenshum,  I  reckon?" 

"Yes/'  replied  Andrew,  "his  ankle  is  still  swol- 
len." 

"I'se  fix  dat  all  right  soon  as  we'se  git  to  de 
cabin,"  said  the  negro  looking  down  at  Alpheus 
with  a  face  full  of  sympathy. 

"I  hope  it  won't  delay  us  long  on  our  journey," 
remarked  Andrew. 

"Doan  youse  teck  no  trouble  about  dat.  Old 
Eben  will  tend  to  dat  leg.  He's  wanter  do  sumfin 
fer  Mar's  Linkum  dis  yer  long  time."  Alpheus, 
who  had  been  listening,  was  at  once  disarmed  of  all 
doubts  and  fears.  He  afterward  declared  that  he 
would  be  willing  to  trust  his  life  with  the  old  Af- 
rican. 

Again  they  resumed  their  journey  and  presently 
emerged  from  the  wood  and  entering  a  cornfield 


KINDNESS   OF    THE  SLAVE.  185 

in  which  the  corn  was  till  standing  in  the  ear,  they 
made  their  way  carefully  so  as  not  to  break  any  of 
it  down,  soon  came  to  a  small  cleared  space  in  the 
center  of  which  stood  a  cabin  barely  perceptible  in 
the  gathering  gloom. 

As  they  neared  the  door,  it  was  thrown  wide 
open  and  an  aged  negress  stood  before  them. 
Her  head  was  done  up  in  a  faded  red  handkerchief 
wound  around  her  in  the  form  of  a  turban.  Her 
dress  was  almost  covered  by  an  immense  gingham 
apron  quite  conspicuous  on  account  of  its  large 
bar  and  bright  color. 

These  few  extra  articles  of  dress  were  about  all 
Mandy  had  to  receive  company  in,  but  no  queen  in 
royal  robes  of  state  felt  more  proud  to  receive  her 
most  honored  courtier,  than  did  this  poor  slave 
wife  and  mother,  in  knowing  she  was  about  to  offer 
a  shelter  to  two  soldiers  of  the  great  war  of  Mar's 
Linkum. 

Her  welcome  assured  the  two  fugitives  that 
here  was  both  shelter  and  safety. 

"Walk  right  in  gemmen  an'  teck  dat  p'or  man 
off  dat  stretcher  and  place  him  on  de  bed." 

Alpheus  smiled  and  said  he  would  try  to  get 
along  without  going  to  bed.  The  old  auntie  then 
hurried  in  and  drawing  forth  a  broad  pine  bench, 


1 86  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

quickly  snatched  an  old  comfortable  from  a  bed 
standing  in  a  corner.  This  she  folded  and  spread 
it  upon  the  bench,  making  a  fairly  comfortable 
couch  for  the  young  soldier. 

The  cabin  was  small,  with  but  one  room.  It 
was  made  of  logs  with  a  clay  mortar  worked  in  be- 
tween, and  the  whole  covered  by  a  whitewash  that 
might  once  have  been  the  color  its  name  implied, 
but  now  was  only  a  dingy  yellow,  possibly  due  to 
smoke  and  age. 

At  one  end  was  a  large  fireplace  from  which 
the  smoke  was  carried  by  a  mud-and-stick  chimney. 
There  was  but  one  small  window  of  two  panes  of 
glass.  This  was  carefully  covered  by  a  piece  of 
blanket  and  after  they  had  entered,  old  Eben  se- 
curely barred  the  door  and  placed  a  large  stick  of 
wood  close  to  the  lower  edge  to  shut  out  all  light 
that  might  stream  forth. 

The  floor  was  made  of  rough  boards  that  had 
evidently  been  put  down  when  green,  and  drying 
out  from  year  to  year,  thus  leaving  a  large  crack 
betwixt  each  one. 

This  was  the  plain  home  of  slavery,  but  no 
gilded  palace  hall  could  have  been  more  acceptable 
to  its  owner,  than  this  refuge  to  the  two  men  who 
felt  that  they  were  among  those,  who  would  if 


KINDNESS   OF    THE   SLAVE.  1 8? 

necessary,  give  their  last  bite  of  food  to  the  two  be- 
neath their  roof  and  feel  honored  in  doing  so. 

The  boy  Tony  had  hurried  off  to  the  spring  and 
now  came  in  with  a  basin  of  water  and  a  towel  as 
he  said  "fer  de  gem'men  to  bave  wif."  This  little 
act  of  courtesy  coming  from  a  poor  negro  boy  was 
all  the  more  appreciated  by  our  two  friends. 

The  room  indicated  that  their  coming  had  been 
anticipated,  for  the  table  had  been  drawn  to  the 
center  of  the  room  and  spread  with  a  white  sheet, 
and  Mandy  had  placed  thereon  all  her  pewter  plates 
and  tin  cups,  which  she  had  scoured  and  burnished 
until  they  shone  like  silverware  in  the  flickering 
light  of  the  fire. 

She  had  been  busy  all  afternoon  getting  ready 
for  her  distinguished  guests,  and  a  look  of  satisfac- 
tion was  on  her  face  as  she  placed  upon  the  table 
a  nice  roasted  chicken,  a  goodly  quantity  of  roast 
sweet  potatoes,  and  a  freshly  baked  pone. 

Bidding  her  guests  be  seated,  she  poured  out 
for  each  a  mug  of  steaming  hot  coffee  made  from 
roasted  corn,  which,  though  it  had  not  the  flavor 
of  Mocha  and  Java,  still  had  a  delicious  taste  to  her 
two  hungry  guests. 

Need  we  ask  if  they  enjoyed  that  supper?    The 


1 88  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

way  the  chicken,  sweet  potatoes  and  corn  pone  dis- 
appeared evinced  enough. 

The  man  and  boy  stood  at  a  respectful  distance 
behind  their  guest.  Andrew  beckoned  the  old 
man  and  urged  him  to  be  seated  but  he  shook  his 
head.  He  remembered  that  he  was  only  a  slave  and 
that  his  guests  were  white  men.  Mandy  was  very 
attentive  in  waiting  upon  our  two  friends,  urging 
upon  them  to  "teck  moar  cawfee  an'  jist  help 
yo'sels  to  chicken,"  and  seemed  delighted  to  see 
them  enjoy  their  repast. 

At  length  after  fully  satisfying  the  inner  man, 
they  pushed  back  from  the  table,  Alpheus  declar- 
ing that  he  felt  as  well  satisfied  as  though  he  had 
feasted  at  Delmonico's. 

Andrew  thanked  their  hostess  for  the  nice  sup- 
per they  had,  which  set  her  off  in  a  series  of  bows 
and  curtseys,  while  her  old  heart  was  filled  with  joy 
and  delight,  and  she  muttered  to  herself : 

"Nevah  seed  sich  nice  lookin'  men,  an'  dey's  so 
perlite.  Speaks  to  an  ole  brack  auntie  jes'  as  ef 
I  was  a  white  lady/' 

After  supper  the  old  man  bathed  Alpheus'  ankle 
with  the  decoction  he  had  prepared  and  carefully 
bound  it  up  with  a  bit  of  clean  linen. 

The  two  soldiers  sat  and  conversed   for  some 


KINDNESS   OF    THE   SLAVE.  189 

time  with  their  dusky  friends,  the  old  man  doing 
most  of  the  talking  while  the  old  auntie  and  boy  sat 
looking  at  their  guests  with  eyes  full  of  admiration* 
From  the  old  man  they  learned  that  he  and  his  fam- 
ily were  all  owned  by  a  rich  planter,  who  at  the  out- 
break of  the  war  had  entered  the  Confederate  army 
and  that  in  one  of  the  early  battles  in  Virginia  had 
been  killed.  That  the  plantation  had  been  for  a 
time  in  charge  of  an  overseer,  but  he  having  been 
conscripted  into  the  army,  there  was  no  one  to 
look  after  the  black  people,  and  that  he  and  his  old 
woman  had  come  to  this  cabin,  which  belonged  to 
the  plantation,  to  wait  till  the  war  would  close. 

He  also  informed  them  that  Tony's  father  was 
his  son,  and  that  he  was  now  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Charleston  where  he  had  been 
taken  to  work  upon  the  rebel  fortifications. 

At  length  when  the  hour  came  for  retiring  (al- 
though there  was  no  timepiece  to  indicate  the 
hour),  the  old  man  lifted  two  of  the  boards  in  the 
floor  and  showed  their  guests  the  retreat  that  had 
been  prepared  for  them.  Tony  got  a  pine  knot, 
lighted  it  and  held  it,  so  our  friends  could  get  to 
their  quarters.  Alpheus  was  helped  down  and 
resting  upon  the  skins  Mandy  had  placed  there,  de- 
clared he  would  not  want  a  better  bed. 


ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Andrew  took  his  place  by  the  side  of  his  com- 
rade and  the  old  negro  replacing  the  boards,  they 
lay  conversing  together  in  the  faint  light  which 
came  through  the  cracks  in  the  floor  from  the  fire 
above. 

But  the  old  auntie  soon  covering  the  coals  with 
ashes,  all  light  faded  out  and  they  were  left  in  dark- 
ness. 

"I  feel  like  thanking  our  Heavenly  Father  for 
so  kindly  providing  for  us  this  refuge/'  whispered 
Alpheus. 

"Supose  we  do,"  said  Andrew,  and  together  the 
two  men  knelt  down,  and  there  in  the  silent  dark- 
ness of  that  slave  cabin,  a  united  prayer  of  thanks- 
giving went  up  to  Him  who  "doth  not  fail  to  note 
even  the  fall  of  a  sparrow." 

In  the  morning  the  savory  smell  of  frying  pork 
greeted  their  olfactories,  and  ere  long  they  were 
back  at  Mandy's  table  delighting  the  poor  old  wo- 
man's heart  with  the  relish  they  showed  for  the  food 
she  had  prepared  for  them,  while  an  occasional 
compliment  from  Andrew  set  her  almost  wild  with 
joy. 

Again  the  aged  negro  dressed  Alpheus'  ankle, 
which  already  began  to  show  signs  of  improve- 
ment, the  swelling  having  visibly  diminished. 


RETURN   TO    THE   UNION   LINES.  1QI 


CHAPTER  XII. 

RETURN  TO  THE  UNION  LINES. 

URING  the  day  the   boy  Tony  kept  a 
sharp  lookout  from  the  edge  of  the 
clearing,  and  thus  the  day  passed  like 
many  others  that   followed,   while   the 
injured  ankle  continued  to  grow  stronger. 

Tony  kept  up  a  faithful  watch  for  a  week,  then 
relaxed  his  vigilance  somewhat.  The  old  negress 
labored  long  and  hard  to  make  the  stay  of  her 
guests  pleasant.  There  was  one  thing  that  was 
puzzling  Andrew,  that  was  how  to  make  their  way 
through  the  country  and  escape  detection,  as  their 
bright  blue  uniforms  were  rather  conspicuous.  He 
counseled  with  his  comrade  and  after  thinking  the 
mater  over,  but  one  avenue  seemed  open  to  them 
to  get  around  the  difficulty.  And  this  offered  only 
a  partial  outlet  for  them.  It  was  to  exchange 
clothes  with  their  host.  But  the  poor  old  slave 
did  not  possess  a  change  of  clothing,  and  those  of 
Tony  were  too  small. 

While  they  debated  the  question,  a  way  opened 


ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

up  unexpectedly,  which  enabled  them  to  surmount 
the  difficulty. 

One  night  after  all  had  retired  a  knock  was 
heard  at  the  door  of  the  cabin.  The  occupants 
were  startled  and  our  two  friends  in  their  hiding 
place  waited  breathlessly  for  developments. 

"Who's  dar?"  came  the  voice  of  old  Eben. 

"Jist  me,  daddy,"  replied  the  voice  from  with- 
out. 

"Go  long  dere  now,  do  youse  spec  I'se  gwine 
ter  let  youse  in  kase  youse  call  me  daddy?  Um, 
guess  not  ef  dis  nigga  knows  his'sel." 

Again  there  came  a  knock,  and  a  voice  saying 
in  an  imploring  tone,  "Do  let  me  in  daddy,  I'se 
youse  son  Mose.  Doant  youse  know  Mose? 
Him  who  was  tecked  away  off  to  work  fer  de  Con- 
fed'rits?" 

Then  the  old  man  was  heard  counseling  with 
his  wife,  "Sho  nuff,  I  believe  dat  is  our  boy  Mose, 
I'd  orter  know'd  his  voice."  And  with  this  the 
parent  arose  and  unbarring  the  door  let  in  his  boy. 

There  was  great  rejoicing.  Little  Tony  had 
to  be  waked  up  to  share  in  the  joy  ocasioned  by  the 
return  of  his  daddy. 

Our  two  friends  who  had  been  listening  in- 
tently now  sank  back  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that 


RETURN   TO   THE   UNION    LINES.  193 

the  coming  of  the  stranger  boded  them  no  ill.  In 
the  morning  the  father  proudly  introduced  his  son 
Moses,  who  proved  to  be  a  strapping  young  dar- 
key about  Andrew's  size.  Mose  had  watched  his 
oportunity  and  had  taken  French  leave  of  his  com- 
panions on  the  earth-works  near  Charleston  and 
made  his  way  home.  He  was  delighted  to  meet 
with  the  Union  soldiers  and  hoped  he  could  be  of 
assistance  to  them.  His  coming  provided  the  way 
for  the  exchange  of  clothing,  and  Mandy  worked 
hard  to  put  the  clothes  of  her  son  and  husband  in 
as  fit  condition  as  possible  for  the  exchange. 

The  aged  negro  at  first  protested  against  the 
exchange  of  the  fine  blue  clothes  of  the  Union  sol- 
diers for  his  old  rags.  But  in  his  heart  there  was 
a  secret  delight,  and  after  he  had  donned  one  of  the 
suits,  he  could  often  be  seen  sitting  in  the  bright 
sunshine  admiring  himself  with  a  greater  satisfac- 
tion than  the  most  fashionable  dude  of  a  great  city. 

About  a  fortnight  had  passed  since  the  coming 
of  the  Union  men  to  the  negro's  cabin,  and  the 
young  soldier's  injured  limb  was  almost  as  strong 
as  ever.  Plans  were  laid  for  their  departure,  for 
they  were  anxious  to  get  back  to  the  Union  lines. 
Then  again  they  did  not  like  to  impose  further  up- 
on the  generous  hospitality  of  the  old  couple.  It 

13 


194  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

was  decided  that  Mose  should  accompany  them 
until  he  could  find  another  to  take  his  place. 

Our  two  soldier  boys  bade  their  benefactors  an 
affectionate  farewell,  taking  their  black  toil  worn 
hands  in  theirs.  The  old  negress  actually  broke 
down  and  cried,  while  old  Eben  had  to  resort  fre- 
quently to  the  use  of  his  faded  handkerchief. 

Andrew  and  Alpheus  bestowed  upon  the  old 
couple  all  the  little  trinkets  in  their  possession,  and 
Andrew  rewarded  Tony  for  his  faithful  vigil  by 
presenting  him  with  the  ten  dollars  of  Confederate 
money  he  had  received  from  the  rebel  soldier  at 
Lynchburg. 

The  boy  took  it  and  made  a  low  obeisance, 
while  he  grinned  and  showed  the  whites  of  his  eyes. 
The  Confederate  money  had  no  significance  to 
him,  but  he  prized  it  highly  because  it  came  from 
a  Lincoln  soldier. 

With  a  parting  injunction  from  old  Eben  for 
"Mose  ter  be  shuah  ter  pro  wide  fo  de  men  an'  look 
out  fo'  clorgs,"  the  trio  took  their  departure. 

We  will  not  go  in  detail  how  they  journeyed, 
mostly  by  night  in  order  to  avoid  being  observed, 
hiding  in  caves  and  occasionally  seeking  the  pro- 
tection of  some  negro  cabin.  Mose  proved  to  be 
not  only  a  safe  guide,  but  faithful  in  looking  out  for 


RETURN   TO    THE   UNION   LINES.  195 

their  wants  while  they  traveled.  At  one  time  they 
feared  that  dogs  were  on  their  track,  as  they  heard 
their  bark  in  the  distance,  but  they  threw  them  off 
the  scent,  if  such  was  the  case,  by  walking  a  consid- 
erable distance  in  the  bed  of  a  stream  before  re- 
suming their  course. 

After  several  days  journey,  the  faithful  Mose 
bade  them  farewell,  first  supplying  them  with  a 
trusty  guide,  whom  he  happened  to  know  living 
along  their  route. 

And  thus  they  kept  on,  each  day  drawing 
nearer  the  Union  lines.  Andrew  learning  by  ex- 
perience that  knowledge  of  travel  by  night,  which 
served  him  later  on  in  his  life  as  a  soldier. 

At  last  one  morning  as  the  sun  was  lighting  up 
the  tree-tops  on  the  Virginia  hills,  they  looked 
down  upon  a  piece  of  bunting  waving  in  the  dis- 
tance. Its  colors  of  red,  white  and  blue  making  on 
the  dark  background  of  green  forest  leaves  a  pic- 
ture which  the  two  weary  travelers  declared  was 
the  prettiest  they  had  ever  looked  upon. 

It  was  the  flag  of  their  country,  and  underneath 
its  folds  was  safety  and  protection. 

It  proved  to  be  floating  over  the  outposts  of 
their  own  corps  (the  Third)  and  ere  long  they  were 
back  in  the  camp  of  their  own  regiment,  where 


196  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

they  were  congratulated  by  their  comrades  upon 
their  return,  as  they  were  supposed  to  be  dead  or 
taken  prisoners. 

The  regiment  had  moved  its  camp  and  was  now 
many  miles  from  the  old  farm  house  on  the  War- 
rentown  Pike.  So  it  was  impossible  for  Alpheus 
to  visit  the  farmer  and  secure  his  canteen  of  apple- 
jack, as  well  as  wreak  his  vengeance  on  the  F.  F.  V. 

But  both  of  our  friends  had  an  experience  they 
did  not  soon  forget,  and  months  after,  while  lying 
in  winter  quarters,  some  one  would  call  for  the 
story  of  "How  near  two  Yankee  soldiers  came  to- 
getting  some  old  Virginia  apple-jack." 


BATTLE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS — DESERTION.   1 97 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BATTLE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS— DESERTION. 

HE  spring  of  1864  came  and  a  new  life 
was  infused  into  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
army  by  General  Grant,  who  had  met 
with  noted  success  in  the  West,  being 
made  Lieutenant  General  of  all  the  forces  of  the 
United  States.  Heretofore,  each  army  had  acted 
independently  of  the  other;  now  they  were  to  act 
in  concert,  and  thus  prevent  the  Confederate  forces 
from  aiding  each  other. 

The  strength  of  the  South  lay  in  the  armies  of 
Lee  in  Virginia  and  Joseph  E.  Johnston  in  Geor- 
gia. Grant  was  to  attack  the  former  and  Sherman 
the  latter,  and  both  were  to  keep  hammering  at  the 
work  regardless  of  wind  or  weather. 

History  records  how  effectively  Sherman  did 
his  part  of  the  work,  and  also  how  Grant  verified  his 
terse  telegram,  "We  will  fight  it  out  on  this  line  if 
it  takes  all  summer." 

May  5th  and  6th  witnessed  the  battle  of  the  Wil- 
derness. In  this  battle,  the  Colonel  of  Andrew's 


198  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

regiment,  who  had  before  his  enlistment  been  a 
Methodist  minister,  and  had  been  dubbed  "The 
Fighting  Parson,"  led  his  men  into  the  fight  all  the 
while  singing  a  popular  camp  meeting  chorus. 

The  battle  had  been  raging  since  early  dawn 

when  the  Colonel  of  the  Sixty — ,  Penna.,  was 

ordered  to  take  his  regiment  and  charge  the  ene- 
my, then  posted  in  strength  along  the  plank  road. 
These  planks  had  been  taken  up  and  placed  in  piles 
along  the  road,  thus  affording  the  enemy  a  protec- 
tion against  the  rain  of  musketry  that  showered 
upon  them  from  the  Union  line. 

When  the  order  was  given,  the  regiment  moved 
out  with  its  old  time  precision ;  not  a  man  faltered, 
though  they  knew  it  was  almost  a  forlorn  hope,  but 
on  they  went,  all  the  while  subject  to  a  decimating 
fire.  But  they  wavered  not.  They  had  reached  a 
point  within  a  few  rods  of  the  enemy's  line,  when 
the  order  was  given  to  "Double  quick  time !"  But 
hardly  had  it  been  sounded  when  from  behind  the 
barricade  spoken  of,  there  arose  seemingly  a  bri- 
gade of  the  enemy,  and  poured  into  the  advancing 
regiment  a  murderous  fire,  which  seemed  to  shrivel 
it  up  like  a  tender  plant  under  the  blighting  effects 
of  a  frost. 

The  range  being  so  short  nearly  every  shot  told 


BATTLE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS DESERTION. 

with  fatal  effect,  and  that  which  was  once  the  pride 
of  the  brigade,  was  now  a  writhing  contorted  mass 
of  humanity,  fleeing  wildly  towards  the  wood,  leav- 
ing over  half  their  number  on  the  field.  The  offi- 
cers that  had  escaped  did  their  utmost  to  bring  or- 
der out  of  confusion,  but  their  efforts  were  a  failure. 

Andrew  Bentley's  Company  occupied  the  cen- 
ter of  the  line,  and  our  hero  was  in  his  place  march- 
ing along  with  the  stoicism  of  an  Indian.  As  the 
line  was  advancing  in  double  file,  Andrew  was  thus 
thrown  in  the  rear  rank.  When  the  fire  opened 
and  the  crash  came,  the  men  in  front  of  him,  both 
right  and  left,  were  seen  to  go  down  together,  An- 
drew was  also  seen  to  fall  at  the  same  time.  When 
the  fight  was  over,  an  attempt  was  made  by  the 
remainder  of  the  regiment  to  recover  its  dead  and 
wounded  in  the  fatal  charge,  but  in  this  they  wefe 
only  partially  successful,  for  the  underbrush  having 
taken  fire,  was  now  a  raging  sheet  of  flame,  licking 
up  both  the  dead  and  wounded  in  its  capacious 
maw. 

Again  the  news  flew  Northward  that  another 
terrible  battle  had  been  fought,  and  in  the  village  of 

N — there  was  gloom  and  sadness,  for  the 

news  had  come  that  Andrew  Bentley  had  been 
seen  to  fall  in  the  charge,  and  that  owing  to  a  part 


2OO  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

of  the  battlefield  having  been  swept  by  a  forest  fire, 
it  was  impossible  to  recover  his  body.  The  little 
village  again  put  on  the  garb  of  mourning,  and  as  in 
the  case  of  Phineas  Gray  a  memorial  service  was 
held,  at  which  there  were  many  moist  eyes  for  all 
remembered  the  circumstances  attending  his  sec- 
ond entering  the  army. 

In  the  home  of  the  aged  parents  the  sorrow 
was  indeed  truly  great.  It  was  not  of  the  loud, 
demonstrative  kind,  but  a  quiet  bowing  down  of  the 
aged  forms  and  a  throbbing  of  hearts  filled  with 
unutterable  woe.  Annie  Preston  was  with  them, 
mingling  her  tears  with  theirs  in  a  common  sorrow. 
Farmer  Bentley  tried  to  console  himself  with  these 
words,  "He  died  on  the  field  of  honor."  This 
sounded  sweet  to  Annie,  but  it  did  not  fill  the  ach- 
ing void  in  her  heart.  The  days  went  sorrowfully 
by  and  Andrew  was  mourned,  not  only  as  one  dead 
but  one  denied  a  soldier's  burial. 

It  was  about  a  fortnight    ater  the   news   had 

reached  N of  the  battle  of  the  Wilderness 

and  the  seeming  fate  of  Andrew  Bentley,  when  in 
the  deepening  twilight  a  form  clad  in  a  butter-nut 
suit,  his  head  covered  by  an  old  white  hat  much  the 
worse  for  wear,  slipped  out  of  the  wood  that  ad- 
joined the  Bentley  farm,  and  stole  through  the 


BATTLE   OF    THE   WILDERNESS — DESERTION.       2OI 

fields  till  he  reached  the  door  of  the  farm  house. 
He  first  took  a  hasty  peep  inside,  which  though 
short,  revealed  the  form  of  the  aged  parents  sitting 
alone  by  the  supper  table.  He  gave  a  light  rap 
upon  the  door  which  was  at  once  answered  by 
Farmer  Bentley,  who  threw  the  door  wide  open 
letting  a  bright  ray  of  light  fall  upon  the  figure  out- 
side. For  a  moment  he  appeared  stunned,  then 
quickly  pressing  his  hand  to  his  brow,  he  seemed 
about  to  fall  backward,  uttering  at  the  same  time  a 
cry,  "My  God,  is  it  my  boy  Andrew  back  from  the 
dead?"  He  would  have  fallen  but  the  figure  in 
butter-nut  eagerly  sprung  forward  and  tenderly  as- 
sisted the  almost  unconscious  man  to  a  chair.  Mrs. 
Bentley  at  once  arose  and  came  forward  to  learn 
what  was  wrong,  when  the  word  "Mother"  fell 
upon  her  ear,  and  instantly  she  was  clasped  in  a 
pair  of  strong  arms.  She  had  caught  a  sight  of  his 
face  and  the  surprise  was  too  much  for  her.  She 
hung  limp  and  helpless  in  his  arms.  "Andrew!" 
— for  it  was  no  other — carefully  placed  her  upon  a 
couch  near  by  and  proceeded  to  bathe  her  face  and 
wrists  with  cool  water.  She  quickly  revived  and 
opening  her  eyes  they  rested  lovingly  on  her  son 
whom  she  had  mourned  as  dead. 

Andrew  hastily  assured  his  parents  "that  it  was 


2O2  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

he,  and  not  a  spirit  from  the  shadow  land.'*  They 
were  overjoyed  to  have  him  with  them  again. 
"But  why  this  strange  costume?  This  coming  so 
unexpectedly?" 

"That  requires  an  explanation  and  carries  with 
it  somewhat  of  a  story,  but  mother  first  let  me  have 
a  bite  of  something  to  eat,  for  I'm  almost  fam- 
ished. Have  had  nothing  since  morning;  just  a 
bit  of  bread  and  meat,  if  you  have  it  handy,  and 
then  while  I  eat  I  will  give  you  my  story." 

The  fond  mother  hastened  to  spread  before  him 
a  tempting  array  of  eatables.  Andrew  having  first 
drawn  the  blinds  close  down,  went  to  the  door, 
opened  it,  and  cast  a  searching  glance  out  in  the 
darkness,  for  he  fancied  he  had  heard  a  suspicious 
noise  'neath  the  window,  but  after  a  close  survey 
he  quickly  closed  the  door  and  quietly  shoved  the 
bolt  too,  so  as  to  prevent  any  outsider  from  enter- 
ing unannounced. 

He  then  returned  to  the  table,  seated  himself 
and  began  a  hungry  attack  upon  the  food  before 
him.  Seeing  his  father  and  mother  sitting  in  anx- 
ious expectation  he  began,  and  we  will  give  his 
story  just  as  he  related  it. 

"Father  and  mother,  I  hope  you  will  both  for- 


BATTLE   OF    THE   WILDERNESS DESERTION.       2O3 

give  me  for  what  I  have  done,  but  I  could  not  help 
it." 

"Help  what?"  exclaimed  his  mother.  And  a 
feeling  of  a  dread  of  something  terrible  came  over 
her. 

"Why,  you  see,"  said  Andrew,  "when  we  started 
on  that  fearful  charge  upon  the  plank  road,  I  felt 
that  I  would  be  the  last  to  turn  back,  but  when 
that  terrible  fire  swept  over  us,  and  hundreds  of  our 
brave  boys  bit  the  dust,  the  two  men  in  front  of  me 
being  pierced  at  the  same  time  by  the  deadly  mis- 
siles, and  falling  upon  me  with  their  combined 
weight,  I  was  borne  to  the  ground  with  them,  but 
soon  struggled  to  my  feet  only  to  find  the  boys  of 
the  regiment  going  pell-mell  towards  the  wood. 
I  at  once  started  to  follow  them,  but  losing  my  way, 
I  failed  to  find  my  command.  But  keeping  on,  I 
soon  found  quite  a  body  of  stragglers,  who  were 
skulking  in  the  woods.  It  was  then  the  thought 
came  to  me  of  returning  home,  for  I  had  always 
felt  that  I  was  unjustly  forced  into  the  service,  and 
while  I  did  my  duty  at  all  times,  I  had  but  little 
heart  in  it.  You  must  also  know,  that  there  is  lit- 
tle show  for  promotion  of  a  conscript  when  among 
volunteer  soldiers.  I  felt  that  I  could  not  look  for- 
ward towards  being  anything  else  than  a  common 


2O4  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

soldier.  So  carefully  concealing  my  gun  and 
cartridge  box  'neath  a  fallen  tree,  I  resolved  to  sever 
my  connection  with  the  army  and  travel  home- 
ward. 

"I  soon  found  quite  a  large  company  in  the 
same  notion  as  myself.  But  it  would  not  do  for  us 
to  travel  together  in  a  body,  so  we  separated  into 
groups  of  two  and  three,  to  insure  more  safety. 
*At  one  time  I  was  obliged  to  swim  the  river  and 
draw  one  of  my  companions  upon  a  board  after  me, 
who  was  unable  to  swim.  All  the  while  the  water 
about  me  was  churned  into  a  foam  by  the  bullets  of 
the  Union  pickets.  At  another  time  we  fell  in  with 
some  of  Moseby's  guerrillas,  with  whom  we  ex- 
changed uniforms  and  afterwards  passed  off  as 
Southern  refugees  going  North. 

"I  traveled  all  the  way  on  foot  and  mostly  at 
night.  I  was  obliged  to  beg  my  way  for  I  did  not 
have  a  cent  of  money.  At  one  time  I  was  within 
a  half  a  mile  of  Uncle  John's  who  lives  in  the  Cum- 
berland Valley,  but  I  did  not  dare  call  on  them  as 
I  did  not  wish  to  reveal  myself.'* 

Again  Andrew  fancied  he  heard  a  noise  without 
and,  rising,  he  went  quickly  to  the  door,  opened  it 
and  cast  a  scrutinizing  glance  into  the  darkness. 


•An  actual  occurrence. 


BATTLE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS — DESERTION.   205 

"You  see,"  he  said,  returning  to  his  seat,  "I 
am  not  desirious  of  being  seen  by  any  one  of  the 
neighbors  and  should  prefer  that  they  do  not  know 
of  my  being  at  home. 

"I  confess  I  am,  or  will  be  looked  upon  in  the 
light  of  a  deserter.  But  I  only  want  a  few  days  of 
rest  and  a  change  of  clothing,  when  I  shall  start  for 
one  of  the  Western  states,  there  to  remain  till  the 
war  is  over." 

At  the  word  deserter,  his  father  groaned  aloud. 
"My  son,"  said  he,  "it  is  only  natural  that  as  a 
father,  I  should  feel  like  shielding  you,  but  I  must 
say  frankly  that  I  cannot  commend  the  course  you 
have  taken.  It  grieves  me  very  much  that  a  son  of 
mine  should  turn  his  back  on  the  old  flag.  We 
mourned  you  as  dead,  but  in  our  sorrow  we  had  the 
consolation  of  believing  you  had  perished  on  the 
field  of  honor.  I  fear  it  is  impossible  for  you  to 
remain  concealed  from  our  neighbors;  even  now 
your  coming  may  have  been  witnessed  by  some.  I 
don't  know  that  we  have  a  soul  unfriendly  toward 
us.  But  then  some  imprudent  one  may  carry  the 
news  to  the  county  seat,  and  soon  the  Provost 
Marshall  will  be  here  with  his  minions  to  hunt  you 
down  and  you  know  the  fate  of  a  deserter,  my  boy. 
Tis  an  open  grave,  a  coffin,  a  platoon  of  soldiers 


2O6  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

with  loaded  muskets.     He  who  has  proved  recreant 
to  his  vow  furnishes  the  rest." 

The  father  while  talking  had  arisen  and  was  pac- 
ing excitedly  to  and  fro,  while  the  hot  scalding 
tears  fell  like  rain  down  the  mother's  withered 
cheeks. 

"My  son!  Oh,  my  son!  Why  did  you  do 
this?"  she  wailed  in  the  anguish  of  her  heart.  An- 
drew could  not  bear  to  look  upon  the  distress  of  his 
loved  parents.  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
while  the  tear-drops  trickled  through  his  fingers 
and  fell  on  the  floor. 

At  that  moment  he  fully  realized  the  mistake 
he  had  made,  that  he  was  an  outcast  from  society. 
He  groaned  aloud: 

"Father!     Mother!     Forgive   your  mistaken, 
boy.     I  will  return  at  once  and  try  to  retrieve  my 
lost  honor." 

"You  cannot  return  at  once  my  boy,"  said  the 
father.  "You  must  first  be  provided  with  suitable 
clothing ;  you  cannot  go  forth  in  that  garb.  I  will 
also  see  that  you  are  provided  with  funds  necessary 
for  traveling." 

It  was  decided  that  Andrew  should  keep  in  se- 
clusion until  by  nightfall  of  the  next  day,  when  he 
would  repair  to  the  house  of  a  kind  neighbor  who 


BATTLE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS DESERTION.   2O/ 

lived  in  a  secluded  part  of  the  country,  and  there  re- 
main until  he  was  fully  prepared  for  the  journey. 

The  hopes  of  the  Bentley  family  to  keep  con- 
cealed the  return  of  their  son,  were  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. Already  their  secret  was  in  the  pos- 
session of  one  who,  as  the  reader  well  knows,  had 
no  particular  love  for  Andrew  Bentley. 

As  the  door  was  thrown  open  in  answer  to  the 
light  rap  made  by  Andrew,  and  the  flood  of  light 
streamed  out  revealing  his  figure  as  well  as  that  of 
his  father  standing  in  the  door  way,  Henry  Wil- 
liams paused  at  the  garden  gate.  Having  a  few 
moments'  leisure  in  the  store,  he  had  quietly  slipped 
out  and  taken  the  path  through  the  meadow  lead- 
ing in  the  direction  of  Farmer  Bentley's.  He  had 
wished  to  make  a  purchase  of  some  cattle  the 
farmer  had  for  sale,  knowing  that  if  he  could  but 
get  them  at  a  low  figure,  he  could  dispose  of  them 
at  quite  a  profit  to  himself.  He  hesitated  before 
lifting  the  latch  and  while  doing  so,  he  heard  the 
cry  uttered  by  the  aged  man  and  noticed  his  seem- 
ing faintness,  the  hurried  rush  of  the  figure  outside 
to  his  assistance,  and  all  of  Henry's  senses  were  on 
the  alert.  He  was  not  sure  but  what  he  had  heard 
the  name  Andrew  in  the  surprised  cry. 

Not  having  the  highest  sense  of  honor,  he  crept 


2O8  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

stealthily  up  to  the  window  thinking  to  get  a  peep 
inside,  but  in  this  he  was  disappointed  for  just  at 
that  moment  some  one  inside  drew  the  blinds 
down  close,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  door  was  op- 
ened. Henry  sank  silently  down  behind  a  rose- 
bush near  by  and  breathlessly  waited.  As  soon  as 
the  door  was  closed  and  the  coast  seemed  clear,  he 
placed  himself  close  to  the  window  fully  resolved  to 
hear  the  conversation  carried  on  inside.  In  this  he 
was  successful,  learning  all  of  Andrew's  desertion 
from  the  army,  and  the  discomfiture  of  the  parents. 
Then  deeming  he  had  accomplished  sufficient  for 
one  evening,  he  turned  to  steal  away  when  his  foot 
by  some  means  becoming  entangled  in  a  creeping 
vine,  he  was  thrown  heavily  to  the  ground. 

It  was  this  noise  that  Andrew  had  heard,  when 
the  second  time  he  threw  open  the  door  and  gazed 
out.  Henry  did  not  at  once  attempt  to  rise,  but  lay 
quite  still  and  it  was  well  that  he  did  so,  otherwise 
he  would  have  been  detected  by  the  watchful  eyes 
of  Andrew. 

As  soon  as  he  deemed  it  safe,  he  arose  to  his 
feet  and  hurried  away  chuckling  to  himself  over  the 
news  he  possessed.  Now  will  the  proud  Annie 
Preston  be  humbled,  and  she  will  find  there  are  just 
as  honorable  men  at  home  as  those  who  go  to  the 


BATTLE   OF  THE   WILDERNESS — DESERTION.      2CX) 

war.  How  the  folks  will  look  surprised  to-morrow 
when  they  find  their  dead  hero  has  turned  out  to  be 
a  live  deserter.  And  thus  soliloquizing  with  him- 
self, he  hastened  homeward. 

The  first  caller  at  the  store  in  the  morning 
proved  to  be  Judge  Preston,  who  was  on  his  way  to 
the  station  to  take  an  early  train  for  the  city.  He 
only  wanted  to  purchase  some  postage  stamps  but 
enough  time  was  afforded  Henry  to  remark  "that  a 
surprise  awaited  the  people  of  N ." 

The  Judge  inquired  of  what  nature. 

"Well,  Judge,  you  would  hardly  believe  it,  but 
Andrew  Bentley  has  come  to  life  and  is  at  home," 

"What,  home?  I  can't  believe  it;  but  how 
come  you  to  know  it?"  queried  the  Judge. 

Henry  was  for  a  moment  taken  a  little  aback  to 
explain  how  he  came  into  possession  of  the  knowl- 
edge of  Andrew's  return,  but  his  wits  quickly  com- 
ing to  his  rescue  he  glibly  replied,  "Why  I  was 
passing  that  way  last  night  and  saw  a  man  clad  in  a 
butter-nut  uniform"  approach  the  door  and  knock, 
and  when  Farmer  Bentley  opened  it  I  heard  him 
call  his  son  by  name." 

"Yes,  but  you  may  have  been  mistaken,"  said 
the  Judge.  "Farmer  Bentley  has  another  boy 

14 


2IO  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

lately  returned  from  the  West,  and  it  may  have  been 
him  whom  you  saw." 

"I  don't  think  I  am  mistaken  for  the  son  you 
refer  to  is  only  a  stripling  of  a  boy  and  this  was  a 
bearded  man.  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  it 
was  Andy  Bentley  and  furthermore  I  believe  he  has 
deserted  from  the  army." 

"Well,  Andrew  may  be  at  home,  but  I  cannot 
believe  he  has  deserted.  No,  never!  Too  true  a 
boy  to  do  that,"  said  the  Judge  somewhat  testily, 
and  folding  up  his  stamps  he  drew  on  his  gloves  and 
left  the  store. 

Throughout  the  entire  forenoon  Henry  regaled 
his  patrons  with  the  wonderful  news.  Many  of 
them  looked  upon  it  as  a  case  of  mistaken  identity 
on  Henry's  part.  A  few  thought  it  possible  that 
the  dead  man  might  have  come  to  life,  and  An- 
drew returned  in  the  flesh,  but  that  he  had  deserted 
was  too  much  to  charge  to  Andrew  Bentley,  the 
favorite  of  almost  everybody  in  the  village. 

But  the  seed  had  been  sown,  and  sensational 
news  travels  rapidly,  so  before  the  close  of  the  day, 
the  entire  community  had  heard  of  the  conjectured 
return  of  Andrew  Bentley.  Great  was  the  mystery 
for  none  of  the  family  in  whom  the  interest  was  cen- 
tered appeared  upon  the  street,  except  the  younger 


BATTLE   OF   THE   WILDERNESS — DESERTION.      211 

brother  Walter,  and  all  the  busy-bodies  could  do, 
they  could  obtain  no  information  from  him.  Judge 
Preston  said  nothing  to  his  family  about  the  mat- 
ter upon  his  return  home  in  the  evening,  but  early 
the  next  morning  he  called  upon  Farmer  Bentley 
and  in  a  tactful  way  brought  the  subject  up  of  An- 
drew's return.  He  said  it  was  only  a  rumor  which 
he  hardly  credited,  but  he  thought  the  best  way 
was  to  ascertain  for  himself  the  truth  or  untruthful- 
ness  of  the  report.  Farmer  Bentley's  face  evinced 
both  the  surprise  and  pain  he  felt.  He  was  at  a 
loss  to  conceive  how  the  news  had  been  spread,  for 
he  was  sure  Andrew  had  not  left  the  house  since  his 
return. 

As  he  knew  Judge  Preston  was  a  warm  friend 
of  the  family,  and  had  been  instrumental  in  pro- 
curing Andrew's  discharge,  with  many  other  kind 
acts,  he  frankly  told  him  of  the  return  of  his  son, 
and  while  he  did  not  intend  to  say  much  more  on 
the  subject,  by  a  few  adroit  questions  onjhe  part 
of  the  Judge,  he  intimated,  then  finally  admitted, 
that  his  boy  had  left  the  army  in  a  way  that  did  not 
reflect  credit  on  himself  or  family. 

The  anxious  father  appealed  to  the  Judge  for 
advice  upon  the  matter. 

"Well,"  remarked  his  neighbor,  "if  Andrew  has 


212  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

deserted  and  the  fact  becomes  known,  as  I  fear  it 
likely  will,  it  may  go  hard  with  the  boy.  They  will 
force  him  to  go  back  into  the  army  if  for  nothing 
else  than  to  undergo  a  court  martial  and  suffer  the 
penalty  for  desertion,  and  I  hardly  need  tell  you 
what  that  is,"  said  the  Judge. 

The  look  upon  the  face  of  the  father  was  pitiful 
to  behold,  but  he  hade  no  reply,  only  his  breath 
came  short  and  fast,  while  his  hands  trembled  per- 
ceptibly. 

"I  would  advise,"  said  the  Judge,  "the  best  and 
safest  plan  for  Andrew  would  be  to  get  back  into 
the  army  as  soon  as  possible.  Urge  upon  him  to 
do  this  and  all  may  yet  be  well." 

Farmer  Bentley  thanked  him  and  said  that  he 
had  already  advised  Andrew  to  this  course. 

The  Judge  did  not  ask  to  see  the  young  man, 
knowing  it  would  be  the  wish  of  the  family  to  have 
no  intrusion,  so  after  a  few  more  remarks,  he  bade 
the  father  good  morning  and  turned  his  steps 
homeward,  communing  with  himself  as  he  walked. 

"I  hate  to  think  of  that  boy  being  a  deserter. 
The  last  man  I  would  think  of  turning  his  back  on 
the  old  flag.  What  in  the  world  prompted  him  to 
do  it?  Surely  there  must  have  been  some  powerful 
influence  to  urge  him  to  do  this."  And  thus  try- 


BATTLE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS DESERTION.   213 

ing  in  his  mind  to  find  something  to  ameliorate  the 
action  of  Andrew,  for  he  always  admired  the  boy, 
he  entered  the  shady  avenue  leading  to  his  home. 

At  the  dinner  table,  the  Judge — not  knowing 
anything  of  the  existing  relations  between  the  son 
of  Farmer  Bentley  and  his  daughter  Annie — re- 
marked that  "It  did  not  seem  possible  that  one 
mourned  as  dead  like  Andrew  Bentley  should  re- 
turn to  them." 

At  the  utterance  of  these  words,  Annie  gave  a 
start  and  turned  deathly  pale,  while  objects  in  the 
room  seemed  to  float  about  her,  but  in  a  few  mo- 
ments she  recovered,  and  in  a  voice  quivering  with 
excitement  asked : 

"What  did  you  say,  father,  about  Andrew  Bent- 
ley" 

"Why,"  replied  the  Judge,  "yesterday  morning 
as  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  station,  I  stopped  for  a 
few  minutes  at  Williams'  store,  and  while  there, 
Henry  gave  me  a  bit  of  news  about  Andrew  Bent- 
ley's  arrival  at  home,  and  he  intimated  that  he  had 
deserted." 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  hastily  replied 
Annie.  "I  believe  he  is  talking  of  something  he 
knows  nothing  about.  Pray  how  did  Henry  Wil- 


214  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

liams  come  to  learn  all  this?"  she  continued 
warmly. 

"He  said  he  was  coming  by  there  last  night 
when  Andrew  arrived,"  remarked  her  father. 

"Yes,  and  I  dare  say  did  not  hesitate  to  play 
eavesdropper,"  replied  Annie.  Her  pale  face  now 
turned  to  a  crimson  with  the  indignation  she  felt 
towards  Henry. 

The  Judge  looked  at  his  daughter  with  some 
surprise.  "Why  these  caustic  remarks  about 
Henry  Williams,  daughter?  Has  he  offended  you 
in  any  way?"  Annie  made  no  reply.  "Well," 
continued  the  Judge,  "to  satisfy  myself,  I  went 
over  to  Farmer  Bentley's  this  morning  and  al- 
though I  saw  no  Andrew,  I  had  an  interview  with 
his  father,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  Henry  Williams' 
report  is  true,  yet  how  he  learned  so  much  without 
eavesdropping,  as  you  say,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know." 

"Father,  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Andrew 
Bentley  is  at  home,  and  worst  of  all,  that  he  is  a  de- 
serter?" and  Annie  looked  imploringly  at  her 
father. 

"It  seems  to  be  that  way,"  returned  the  Judge, 
"But  why,  daughter,  should  this  affect  you  so?" 

But  again  he  failed  to  receive  a  reply  to  his 


BATTLE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS — DESERTION.   21$ 

query,  for  Annie  saying,  "Pray  excuse  me,"  hastily 
arose  from  the  table  and  made  her  way  to  her  room 
where  she  threw  herself  down  and  burst  into  a  vio- 
lent flood  of  tears. 

"I  cannot  think  it  possible;  it  must  be  some 
horrid  mistake.  Andrew  may  be  at  home,  but  to 
have  deserted,  never!  He  was  too  much  the  soul 
of  honor.  No !  No !  I  will  not  believe  it,"  and 
thus  all  afternoon  she  went  about  praying  that  after 
all,  it  might  turn  out  to  be  a  dreadful  mistake. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  before  she  found 
time  to  make  her  accustomed  visit  to  the  farm 
house,  and  it  was  with  a  throbbing  heart  she  met 
Mrs.  Bentley  in  the  door  way. 

"Welcome,  my  daughter,"  said  the  sad-eyed 
mother,  in  whose  face  Annie  could  not  fail  to  read 
fresh  traces  of  sorrow.  "You  came  expecting  to 
meet  Andrew,  but  he  is  gone." 

"Gone !"  exclaimed  Annie.  "Then  it  is  true  he 
has  been  home?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  mother,  "but  we  deemed  it 
best  that  he  seek  some  place  more  secluded  than 
this,  while  he  remained  at  home.  He  wanted  very 
much  to  see  you,  but  it  would  have  been  quite  im- 
proper for  him  to  be  about  much." 


Jl6  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

"But  why  so?  Why  this  seclusion?"  eagerly 
questioned  Annie. 

Tears  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  aged  mother. 
"My  daughter/'  and  her  voice  full  of  anguish,  "for 
some  cause  or  other  Andrew  has  forgotten  himself 
and  proved  unfaithful  to  his  trust.  I  cannot  think 
he  did  so  without  some  good  reason.  But  he  is 
what  I  fear  they  call  a  deserter." 

And  here  the  fond  mother  broke  down  and 
could  say  no  more.  Annie's  heart  was  full  to  over- 
flowing, but  her  eyes  refused  a  tear. 

She  was  filled  with  conflicting  emotions.  One 
moment  she  entertained  pity  in  her  heart  for  the 
misguided  Andrew,  the  next,  a  feeling  of  scorn  and 
contempt  swept  o'er  her  at  the  thought  of  her  lover 
being  classed  as  a  deserter,  one  so  lost  to  honor  as 
to  desert  his  flag  and  country  in  the  hour  of  danger. 

She  did  not  ask  when  or  where  Andrew  had 
gone.  For  the  moment  she  did  not  seem  to  care. 
After  a  short  conversation  with  the  old  lady,  she 
gave  her  the  usual  good  bye  kiss  and  took  her  de- 
parture. 

"You  will  try  to  think  kindly  of  Andrew,"  said 
the  ever  kind  and  thoughtful  mother. 

"I  will  try."  But  Annie's  voice,  always  soft 
and  sweet,  sounded  hard  and  cold.  She  passed  out 


BATTLE  OF  THB  WILDERNESS — DESERTION.      2 1/ 

into  the  darkness,  not  any  denser  than  the  gloom 
that  hung  over  her  young  heart. 

Her  Andrew,  a  coward,  a  deserter,  kept  ringing 
in  her  ears,  and  seemed  to  dry  up  all  the  pity  and 
love  in  her  being.  She  reached  her  home,  a  seem- 
ingly changed  woman. 

Andrew  fortunately  did  not  know  the  feelings 
that  were  being  entertained  by  his  sweetheart.  In 
fact  he  was  not  aware  that  his  return  home  was 
known  in  the  village,  for  his  father  deemed  it  best 
not  to  relate  to  him  his  interview  with  Judge 
Preston.  '  • 

It  was  only  a  little  while  before  Annie's  arrival 
that  he  had  bade  a  tender  farwell  to  his  father  and 
mother,  and  accompanied  by  his  younger  brother, 
Walter,  they  had  stolen  out  into  the  darkness  and 
made  their  way  to  a  family  who  lived  some  two 
miles  back  among  the  hills  in  a  rattier  isolated 
spot. 

This  family  was  under  many  obligations  to 
Farmer  Bentley,  who  had  visited  them  that  day, 
and  made  arrangements  with  them  to  receive  his 
son  for  a  short  time. 

If  Andrew  had  lost  caste  with  Annie  on  account 
of  being  a  deserter,  there  was  one  in  whose  eyes  he 
posed  as  a  hero.  Walter's  admiration  for  his 


2l8  ANDRKW    BENTLEY. 

brother  increased  rather  than  diminished,  for  had 
he  not  faced  the  blazing  cannon?  Had  his  arm 
pierced  by  a  rebel  bullet?  Then  had  he  not  been 
forced  to  return  to  the  army  against  his  will?  And 
could  he  not  leave  and  come  home  if  he  wanted  to? 

With  the  free-booter  feeling  characteristic  of 
boys,  Walter  felt  that  Andrew  had  done  nothing 
wrong,  and  was  not  deserving  of  censure.  The 
boy  had  but  one  idol  and  that  was  his  brother. 

And  he  loved  him  with  a  love  surpassing  that  of 
a  woman.  He  proved  to  be  a  faithful  look-out  for 
the  exile,  and  brought  him  all  the  news.  Some  of 
this  was  not  very  comforting  to  Andrew,  for  it  was 
through  Walter  he  learned  that  the  news  of  his 
coming  home  and  his  manner  of  leaving  the  ranks 
was  now  known  in  the  neighborhood.  He  puz- 
zled his  brain  to  know  how  his  secret  got  abroad, 
but  when  he  learned  that  it  first  emanated  from 
Williams,  he  concluded  that  Henry  must  have  been 
a  listener  on  the  night  of  his  arrival  home,  and  it 
no  doubt  was  he,  who  made  the  noise  that  he  had 
heard  twice  upon  that  night. 

In  order  to  pass  the  time  away,  Andrew  spent 
much  of  it  in  roaming  through  the  lorest  with  a 
gun  in  search  of  game,  and  many  a  nimble  squirrel 


BATTLE  OF  THE  WILDERKESS— DESERTION.      2 19 

fell  before  his  unerring  aim,  for  Andrew  was  a  good 
marksman. 

In  these  excursions  he  was  invariably  accom- 
panied by  Walter,  and  every  squirrel  brought  down 
from  a  far  distant  tree-top,  only  served  to  increase 
his  admiration  for  the  skill  of  his  idolized  brother. 

Andrew  had  been  supplied  with  clothing  and 
money  by  his  father ;  but  still  he  lingered,  fostering 
the  fond  hope  that  he  might  by  some  means  secure 
an  interview  with  Annie,  for  he  feared  he  had  fallen 
in  her  esteem.  He  had  sent  her  a  message  by 
Walter  but  up  to  this  time  had  received  no  reply  in 
return.  His  delay  was  suddenly  terminated  by  a 
circumstance,  which  while  he  feared,  he  had  hoped 
would  not  come  to  pass. 

The  ever  faithful  Walter  accidentally  overheard 
Henry  Williams  remark  to  a  neighbor  when  clos- 
ing the  store  one  evening,  "Well,  we'll  soon  know 
whether  he  is  in  the  neighborhood  or  not,"  for  up 
to  this  time  none  of  the  villagers  had  obtained  even 
a  glimpse  of  the  hiding  soldier,  and  the  belief  was 
daily  growing  that  he  had  never  returned  to 

N .     "Yes,  we  expect  the  Provost  Marshal 

here  to-morrow  with  a  detail  of  men  to  make  a 
search." 


22O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AN  ARREST  FRUSTRATED. 

HIS  was  enough  for  Walter  Bentley.  He 
knew  whom  they  alluded  to.  His  be- 
loved brother  was  in  danger.  Hastily 
he  sped  home  and  related  what  he  had 
heard  to  his  parents.  He  was  desirous,  late  as  it 
was,  to  go  and  warn  Andrew,  but  they  persuaded 
him  that  it  was  better  to  retire  and  go  early  in  the 
morning. 

Walter  did  so,  but  it  was  hard  to  court  sleep, 
with  such  a  momentous  matter  on  his  mind.  He 
finally  fell  into  a  fitful  slumber,  disturbed  by 
dreams,  but  as  the  old  kitchen  clock  pealed  out 
the  hour  of  four,  Walter  was  up  and  dressed.  It 
was  fast  growing  light,  and  not  waiting  for  his 
breakfast,  the  faithful  boy  sped  away  across  the 
fields  and  woodland,  to  break  the  news  to  Andrew 
of  the  probable  danger. 

Although  it  was  quite  early  in  the  morning,  he 
heard  the  familiar  crack  of  Andrew's  rifle.  He  at 
once  gave  a  peculiar  whistle,  which  had  been 


AN    ARREST   FRUSTRATED.  221 

agreed  upon  between  them  as  a  signal.  This  was 
at  once  answered  by  his  brother,  toward  whom  he 
quickly  made  his  way.  He  found  Andrew  on  the 
edge  of  a  clearing  with  already  several  nice  gray 
squirrels  hanging  from  his  belt.  Walter  rushed  up 
to  him  breathless,  for  he  had  ran  nearly  all  the  way. 

"Oh,  brother !     They  are  coming !" 

"Who  are  coming?'*  asked  Andrew,  looking 
into  the  fear-stricken  face  of  the  panting  boy. 

Walter  having  gained  some  composure,  at  once 
made  known  to  his  brother  what  the  reader  already 
knows. 

Andrew  felt  for  him  to  tarry  would  be  perilous. 
He  had  hoped  to  pay  one  more  visit  to  his  father 
and  mother.  He  had  lived  with  the  expectation 
of  somehow  or  other  meeting  with  Annie,  ere  he 
would  take  his  departure,  but  now  he  realized  that 
he  must  go  at  once.  So  handing  Walter  his  rifle 
and  game  bag,  he  signified  his  readiness  to  take  his 
leave. 

The  parting  of  the  brothers  was  like  that  of  a 
David  and  Jonathan.  Walter  watched  Andrew 
until  his  form  was  lost  in  the  forest,  then  with  a  sad 
heart  and  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  picked  up  the  gun 
and  game-bag  and  sorrowfully  made  his  way  home- 
ward. All  day  long  he  kept  a  bright  look-out  for 


222  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

the  expected  officers  but  none  came ;  then  the  boy 
was  sorrowful,  lest  he  had  been  mistaken  and 
caused  his  brother  to  unnecessarily  hasten  away. 

But  by  noon  of  the  day  following,  several  men 
with  glittering  lace  bedecked  uniforms,  mounted 
upon  prancing  chargers  and  with  sabres  rattling  at 
their  sides,  swept  around  the  turn  in  the  road, 
dashed  through  the  village,  and  drawing  rein  at 
Squire  Williams'  store,  dismounted  and  loudly  de- 
manded feed  for  their  horses. 

As  soon  as  Walter  Bentley  saw  the  troopers  rid- 
ing by  he  divined  their  mission,  and  fearing  that  his 
brother  might  possibly  have  returned,  he  dropped 
everything  and  took  the  way  across  the  fields  o'er 
which  he  had  trod  the  day  before.  His  hasty  de- 
parture was  noticed  by  Henry  Williams,  who  at 
once  repaired  to  the  barn  where  the  officers  were 
attending  to  the  wants  of  their  tired  animals,  and 
reported  to  them  that  a  younger  brother  was  al- 
ready on  the  way  to  warn  the  deserter  of  their  ap- 
proach. 

They  at  once  placed  the  bit  in  their  horses' 
mouths,  grasped  the  reins,  hastily  mounted,  and 
dashed  up  the  road  to  capture  if  possible  the  young 
traitor,  as  they  called  him.  Walter  was  doing  some 
of  his  best  sprinting  to  cross  the  road  and  reach 


AN    ARREST   FRUSTRATED,  223 

the  protection  of  the  forest  ere  the  horsemen  inter- 
cepted him,  but  he  soon  found  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  him  to  do  so,  and  in  his  extremity,  he  was 
obliged  to  turn  and  make  a  bee-line  for  home. 

*The  troopers  dismounted,  entered  the  field 
and  made  an  attempt  to  catch  the  fleeing  boy. 
They  threatened  to  fire  if  he  did  not  halt,  but  this 
only  added  renewed  speed  to  the  flying  fofm.  He 
soon  out-distanced  them,  and  they  were  obliged  to 
give  up  the  pursuit.  The  terrorized  boy  reached 
his  father's  door  step  faint  with  exhaustion. 

Walter's  father  coming  to  the  house  at  this  crit- 
ical juncture,  and  learning  from  the  almost  breath- 
less lad  the  cause  of  his  wild  flight  and  disturbed 
condition  of  mind,  became  much  excited,  for  he  was 
a  man  of  quick  temper  and  strong  determination, 
and  although  he  was  always  of  a  strong  Union 
propensity,  his  indignation  had  reached  so  high  a 
pitch  by  his  son's  recital,  that  he  deliberately  took 
down  from  its  place  on  the  wall  his  old  trusty  rifle, 
and  ramming  down  a  charge  of  powder  and  ball, 
shouldered  it  and  walked  out  the  road  to  Squire 
Williams'  grocery  store. 

Here  he  found  the  Provost  and  his  men,  who 


*An  actual  occurrence. 


224  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

had  returned  from  their  chase  of  Walter  and  were 
now  enjoying  a  lunch  of  cheese  and  crackers,  which 
they  washed  down  with  repeated  draughts  of 
whisky  from  a  bottle  standing  upon  the  counter 
near  them. 

Henry  Williams,  who  was  in  the  store,  observ- 
ing the  approach  of  Farmer  Bentley  with  his  gun, 
knew  that  trouble  was  coming  for  somebody.  He 
himself  was  not  sure  but  the  old  gentleman  knew 
of  his  conduct  towards  his  son  while  he  was  in  the 
army  although  he  had  always  been  civil  enough, 
but  Henry  did  not  know  how  it  might  be,  if  the 
Bentley  spirit  was  aroused.  He  deemed  it  best  to 
absent  himself  just  then  for  fear  of  an  altercation 
between  his  neighbor  and  the  officer;  so  without 
any  remark  he  quietly  slipped  out. 

Farmer  Bentley  entered  the  store  and  at  once 
recognized  in  the  Provost  Marshal  a  character 
whom  he  had  ofttimes  found  loafing  about  the 
Court  House  at  the  county  seat,  picking  up  odd 
jobs  and  always  seemed  to  be  more  or  less  under 
the  influence  of  strong  drink. 

The  ire  of  the  farmer  was  aroused  at  the  sight 
of  the  man,  for  he  always  had  a  contempt  for  what 
he  termed  "the  Court  House  loafer."  So  in  a 
voice  tremulous  with  anger,  he  addressed  him. 


AN   ARREST  FRUSTRATED.  22$ 

"And  you  are  the  hound  this  great  govern- 
ment sends  out  to  hunt  up  your  superiors?" 

The  officer  who  was  already  beginning  to  feel 
the  effects  of  the  liquor  he  had  drank,  slid  down 
from  the  counter,  upon  which  he  had  been  sitting, 
his  face  a  bright  scarlet  from  the  combined  effects 
of  anger  and  his  many  potations,  and  in  a  voice 
husky  with  rage  fairly  shouted : 

"Who  are  you  that  dares  address  an  officer  of 
the  government  in  this  manner?" 

"I  am  John  Bentley,  sir,  and  never  debased 
myself  so  much  as  I  do  now,  in  addressing  you." 

"Ho !  ho !"  said  the  Provost.  "So  you  are  the 
father  of  the  deserter,  and  the  young  traitor  we 
chased  a  short  time  ago?  I  believe  the  whole 
squad  of  you  are  rebel  sympathizers,  and  I  have  half 
a  mind  to  place  you  under  arrest."  And  as  he  said 
this,  he  swaggered  up  to  the  aged  man  and  leered 
insolently  into  his  face. 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  farmer's  open  hand  landed 
upon  the  officer's  mouth,  drawing  a  trace  of  blood. 
The  officer  sprang  back,  drew  his  sword,  and  made 
a  lunge  at  his  opponent's  breast  who  quickly  par- 
ried it,  and  was  about  to  charge  wi*h  clubbed  rifle 
upon  the  Provost,  when  his  two  con.-panions,  see- 


226  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

ing  the  dilemma  into  which  their  officer  had  fallen, 
immediately  rushed  to  his  rescue,  threw  themselves 
upon  Farmer  Bentley,  and  bore  him  to  the  floor 
where  they  disarmed  him  of  the  weapon,  though 
not  without  a  struggle. 

Hearing  the  confusion  in  the  store  room,  Squire 
Williams  rushed  in  just  in  time  to  prevent  the  now 
furious  officer  from  throwing  himself  upon  the 
unarmed  and  prostrate  farmer. 

The  angry  official  turned  upon  the  Squire  and 
in  his  blind  passion  would  have  made  an  assault 
upon  him,  had  not  a  number  of  patrons  entered  the 
store  at  this  critical  moment  and  seeing  the  state  of 
affairs,  a  part  of  them  proceeded  to  place  them- 
selves in  front  of  the  Squire,  while  several  went  to 
the  side  of  Mr.  Bentley  and  assisted  him  to  rise. 
Explanations  followed  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
Squire ;  but  not  so  with  Farmer  Bentley. 

He  felt  far  from  being  vanquished  and  wished 
to  challenge  the  officer  to  a  test  with  weapons,  or 
without  them.  But  the  counsel  of  his  neighbors 
prevailed,  and  picking  up  his  rifle,  he  left  the  store, 
not  deigning  to  bestow  even  a  glance  towards  his 
opponent. 

The  Provost  and  his  associates  soon  left  to  loojc 
up  the  deserter.  Quite  an  extended  search  was 


AN   ARREST   FRUSTRATED.  22/ 

made  by  the  officer  and  his  men ;  houses  through- 
out the  neighborhood  were  ransacked  from  cellar 
to  attic,  *  feather  beds  were  thrown  upon  the  floor 
and  trampled  upon,  in  the  vain  hope  of  finding  the 
object  of  their  search.  Barns  and  out-houses  were 
not  forgotten,  but  all  in  vain.  One  house  alone 
escaped  their  examination,  and  that  was  the  Bent- 
ley  homestead.  Perhaps  the  officer  deemed  it 
hardly  prudent  to  do  so,  but  the  prize  they  looked 
for  had  eluded  them.  So  after  a  fruitless  search  of 
almost  the  entire  neighborhood,  it  was  with  con- 
siderable chagrin  they  took  their  apparent  depart- 
ure, riding  away  with  a  great  show  of  braggadocia 
and  indifference.  But  this  was  all  for  effect. 
There  rankled  in  the  breast  of  the  Provost  Marshal 
a  desire  for  revenge. 

The  attack  of  Farmer  Bentley  upon  those  sent 
out  to  hunt  up  his  son  Andrew  proved  in  the  end 
to  be  disastrous,  for  the  officer  in  charge,  feeling 
that  his  quarry  had  escaped  him,  and  to  satisfy  the 
feeling  aroused  in  him  against  the  deserter's  father, 
after  fortifying  himself  from  the  contents  of  a  black 
bottle  he  carried  with  him,  he  ordered  a  halt. 

Then  declaring  to  his  companions  that  he  did 


*An  actual  occurrence. 


228  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

not  purpose  to  return  without  some  trophy  of  the 
chase,  he  bade  them  follow  him,  and  striking  spurs 
into  the  sides  of  their  steeds,  they  galloped  back  to 
the  home  of  Farmer  Bentley. 

The  old  gentleman  and  his  companion  had  just 
completed  their  noon-day  meal,  Walter  had  gone 
to  a  neighbor's  upon  an  errand,  and  the  aged  cou- 
ple were  congratulating  themselves  upon  the  de- 
parture of  the  Provost  Marshal  and  his  men,  when 
a  clattering  of  horses  hoof's  were  heard,  soon  fol- 
lowed by  loud  voices  at  the  door,  and  ere  they 
could  arise  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  disturbance, 
the  door  was  rudely  swung  ajar,  and  in  walked  the 
three  men  whose  departure  they  had  just  been  re- 
joicing over. 

Farmer  Bentley  hastily  arose  and  in  an  indig- 
nant tone  demanded,  "Why  this  intrusion?" 

The  Provost,  with  a  great  show  of  bravado 
drew  his  sword  and  insolently  declared  the  aged 
man  under  arrest. 

"Your  contemptible  declaration  does  not  make 
it  so !"  replied  Farmer  Bentley  hotly. 

The  valiant  officer  remembering  his  former  ex 
perience  with  the  man  who  now  confronted   him 
and  being  just  sober  enodgh  to  keep  out  of  danger, 


AN   ARREST   FRUSTRATED.  22g 

ordered  his  sergeant  to  place  Farmer  Bentley  un- 
der arrest. 

That  official  obeying  the  command  of  his  su- 
perior, stepped  forward  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  farmer,  when  to  his  sudden  surprise 
he  received  a  stinging  blow  upon  the  temple,  which 
sent  him  to  the  floor  in  an  unconscious  condition. 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  Provost  drew  his  pistol,  and 
we  cannot  predict  what  the  result  might  have  been 
had  not  at  that  moment  Judge  Preston  appeared 
in  the  door  way. 

The  scene  that  confronted  him  caused  him  to 
pause  in  surprise.  There  stood  the  aged  father 
with  clenched  hands,  his  silvery  hair  falling  in  ring- 
lets from  his  broad  forehead,  his  face  pale  with  sup- 
pressed anger,  while  from  his  steel  blue  eyes  there 
flashed  a  dangerous  light. 

At  his  feet  lay  the  burly  sergeant,  whose  head 
had  come  in  contact  with  the  clenched  fist  of  the 
irate  farmer.  The  Provost  stood  with  pistol  in 
hand  ready  to  fire,  while  a  little  in  the  rear  stood 
the  cavalry  trooper  apparently  in  doubt  whether  to 
interfere  with  his  superior  or  not. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  the  Judge,  taking 
it  all  in  at  a  glance,  and  addressing  the  Provost. 

The  officer  lowered  his  weapon,   and   turning 


23O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

toward  the  Judge,  he  politely  bowed  and  curtly 
remarked:  "Mr.  Bentley  has  already  twice  at- 
tempted to  interfere  with  Government  officers  in 
the  discharge  of  their  duty,  and  we  were  about  to 
teach  him  a  wholesome  lesson." 

"But  I  cannot  see  the  necessity  for  the  use  of 
deadly  weapons/'  replied. the  Judge  with  feeling. 
"Surely  you  don't  mean  to  make  an  assault  upon  a 
defenseless  man?  Three  against  one,  and  with 
fire  -arms  is  hardly  fair,"  and  the  Judge  found  his 
choler  rising. 

The  officer  mumbled  some  reply  and  placing 
his  pistol  back  in  his  pocket,  said  he  hoped  that  Mr. 
Bentley  would  give  them  no  occasion  to  use  vio- 
lence. 

"But  what  is  required  of  my  neighbor?"  said 
the  Judge  testily,  whose  Scotch  blood  was  up,  and 
he  felt  he  could  not  allow  his  old  friend  to  suffer 
any  indignity  from  officers  and  soldiers  in  the  dis- 
charge of  what  they  pleased  to  term  their  duty. 

"Judge  Preston,"  replied  the  officer,  "we  pro- 
pose to  take  this  man  with  us,"  pointing  to  Farmer 
Bentley.  "He  has  placed  himself  amenable  to  mil- 
itary law  by  his  unwarrantable  attack  upon  us  the 
other  day,  and  again  to-day  in  resisting  an  arrest." 


AN  ARREST   FRUSTRATED.  23 1 

And  he  pointed  to  the  sergeant  upon  the  floor,  who 
was  showing  signs  of  returning  consciousness. 

"Too  bad!  Too  bad!"  said  the  Judge.  "But 
why  drag  the  man  away  from  his  home?  I  will 
gladly  go  his  security  for  any  amount." 

"Sorry  we  cannot  accommodate  you,"  said  the 
officer,  "but  Mr.  Bentley  must  go  with  us  and  ans- 
wer to  a  higher  authority." 

"Surely  you  don't  mean  to  tear  this  old  man 
away  from  his  family  in  this  manner?  Mr.  Bent- 
ley  is,  and  always  has  been  a  staunch  Union  man, 
and  what  he  may  have  done  is  only  through  excite- 
ment. Can  you  not  forego  his  arrest  at  this  time?" 

But  the  officer  was  stubborn  and  would  not 
yield.  He  would  only  allow  sufficient  time  to  se- 
cure a  conveyance;  for  the  long  distance,  and  age 
of  Farmer  Bentley,  would  not  permit  the  warm- 
hearted Judge  to  think  of  his  old  neighbor  walking, 
although  the  brutal  officer  determined  to  make  his 
man  walk,  rather  than  return  without  some  show 
of  the  chase. 

Farmer  Bentley  had  remained  silent  during  the 
controversy.  His  temper  had  cooled  somewhat, 
and  when  the  Judge  approached  him  he  was  ready 


232  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

to  confer  with  him,  for  he  knew  him  to  be  always  a 
warm,  true  friend. 

It  was  decided  he  should  go  with  the  Provost, 
the  Judge  agreeing  to  accompany  him,  and  see 
what  could  be  done  for  his  neighbor  at  the  county 
seat. 

So  Farmer  Bentley's  hired  man  was  called  and 
ordered  to  prepare  the  horses  and  the  old  family 
carriage  for  the  journey.  In  a  short  time  it  was  an- 
nounced that  everything  was  ready,  and  the  ser- 
geant having  recovered  his  senses  by  this  time,  the 
officer  and  his  men  were  in  the  saddle  waiting. 

Farmer  Bentley  had  not  been  absent  from  his 
aged  companion  for  many  years,  and  he  felt  that 
his  going  would  be  a  severe  blow  to  her,  but  she 
bore  up  bravely,  although  there  was  a  perceptible 
moisture  in  her  eyes  and  a  tremor  in  her  voice  as 
she  bade  him  good-bye. 

Walter  had  insisted  on  driving  th&  carriage,  but 
this  would  leave  no  one  at  home  with  his  mother, 
so  he  was  obliged  to  relinquish  in  favor  of  the  hired 
man. 

The  cavalcade  moved  off  with  Judge  Preston 
and  Farmer  Bentley  in  the  carriage,  the  Provost 
riding  a  few  rods  in  advance,  while  the  sergeant 


AN  ARREST  FRUSTRATED.  233 

and  cavalry  trooper  brought  up  the  rear,  in  the 
form  of  a  guard. 

The  sergeant  was  in  a  sulky  mood  and  rode 
along  in  silence.  However,  his  companion  could 
not  resist  the  opportunity  to  twit  him,  asking  him 
"How  hard  Farmer  Bentley's  fist  felt  as  it  rested  on 
his  cranium?"  And  "whether  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  upon  which  he  would  wear,  his  forage  cap, 
his  natural  head  or  the  bump,  lately  raised  upon  it?" 
To  which  the  sergeant  made  some  angry  reply,  well 
interspersed  with  profanity.  The  journey  was 
long  and  tiresome,  but  in  due  time  they  arrived  at 
their  destination. 

The  Provost  with  the  spirit  characteristic  of  the 
man,  wished  to  carry  his  prisoner  to  the  confines 
of  the  public  jail,  but  to  this,  Judge  Preston  would 
not  consent.  His  aged  friend  should  not  suffer 
such  indignity  if  he  could  prevent  it.  He  declared 
he  would  accompany  his  friend  if  he  were  forced  to 
enter  the  jail.  So  after  thinking  the  matter  over, 
the  Provost  officer  decided  to  lodge  Mr.  Bentley 
with  the  Sheriff,  taking  the  Judge's  recognizance 
for  his  good  behavior. 

The  Judge  went  at  once  to  hunt  up  General 
White,  whom  he  learned  was  at  home  for  a  time, 
recovering  from  a  wound  he  had  received  in  battle. 


234  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

His  object  was  to  have  the  General  use  his  influence 
for  the  release  of  his  old  friend.  But  the  Judge 
was  doomed  to  disappointment,  for  when  he 
reached  the  General's  residence,  he  learned  with  re- 
gret that  the  soldier  had  returned  to  the  seat  of  war 
a  few  days  before.  However,  not  discouraged,  he 
directed  his  steps  toward  the  office  of  Major  Cribbs, 
who  was  in  command  of  that  Military  District. 

The  Judge  knew  him  to  be  a  kind  and  obliging 
officer.  He  was  pleased  to  find  the  Major  in,  and 
at  once  related  to  him  the  whole  circumstance 
leading  to  the  arrest  of  his  neighbor.  He  urged 
on  the  commandant  to  consider  the  years  of  his 
friend  and  to  treat  him  as  kindly  as  possible.  The 
Major  promised  to  do  all  he  could  for  Mr.  Bentley, 
though  he  said  it  might  be  sometime  before  the 
matter  would  come  up  as  the  Marshal  had  first  to 
make  his  report,  and  then  if  it  was  thought  neces- 
sary a  military  court  might  be  called  to  try  the  case. 

The  Judge  finding  he  could  not  do  much  more 
to  befriend  his  neighbor,  called  upon  him  at  the 
sheriff's  office  and  related  to  him  what  he  had  done. 

He  bade  his  old  friend  to  be  of  good  cheer  for 
he  would  do  all  in  his  power  for  his  release,  then 
bidding  him  good-bye,  he  took  his  journey  home- 
ward. 


INTERVIEW   WITH    PRESIDENT   LINCOLN.  23$ 


CHAPTER  XV. 

INTERVIEW  WITH  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN. 

HE  news  of  Farmer  Bentley 's  arrest  by 
the  Provost  Marshal  and  his  minions 
and  their  carrying  him  off  to  the  county 
seat,  caused  quite  a  stir  in  the  com- 
munity and  not  a  few  were  the  harsh  things  said 
about  the  officials,  for  though  they  were  all  loyal, 
Union  loving  people,  they  had  great  regard  for  the 
entire  Bentley  family,  and  could  not  endorse  any 
ill  treatment  of  them. 

Some  of  the  younger  element  who  had  learned 
something  of  Henry  Williams'  cowardice  while  in 
the  army,  and  believing  him  to  be  instrumental  in 
having  the  Provost  and  his  guard  come  to  hunt 
down  Andrew  Bentley,  now  turned  upon  that 
worthy  gentleman  and  there  were  grave  fears  that 
the  thing  would  end  up  with  an  application  of  "tar 
and  feathers."  But  older  counsel  prevailed. 
However,  the  title  of  his  army  days  was  revived  and 
kept  up  with  vigor  for  a  long  time.  All  the  while, 


236  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Henry  kept  close  to  his  father's  house,  never  going 
out  much  at  night. 

In  a  short  time,  a  petition  was  widely  circulated 
and  signed,  praying  for  the  release  of  John  M. 

Bentley,  of   N ,   now  in  the  custody  of  the 

military  authorities  at  G . 

This  was  sent  off  to  the  Governor  at  H , 

and  it  was  hoped  that  favorable  news  would  soon 
come  from  that  direction. 

This  reaching  the  Executive  Chamber  at  a  time 
when  the  Governor  was  out  of  town,  the  paper  was 
placed  on  file,  where  like  many  other  documents, 
before  and  since,  it  was  allowed  to  remain  appar- 
ently forgotten.  Judge  Preston  had  made  re- 
peated visits  to  the  county  seat,  but  each  time 
failed  to  receive  anything  encouraging  for  his 
waiting  friend  on  whom  the  situation,  while  really 
not  a  confinement,  was  having  its  effect. 

At  home  the  anxiety  for  the  release  of  the  hus- 
band and  father  increased.  They  had  received  a 
letter  from  Andrew,  and  written  a  reply,  but  had 
mentioned  nothing  of  the  trouble  that  had  befallen 
them. 

No  court  of  inquiry  had  yet  been  convened  and 
a  fortnight  had  already  passed,  and  Walter  could 


INTERVIEW   WITH     PRESIDENT   LINCOLN.  237 

not  fail  to  see  that  the  suspense  was  wearing  upon 
his  loved  mother. 

"Something  must  be  done,"  said  the  lad  in  an 
emphatic  manner,  coming  in  one  morning. 
"Father  must  be  released  at  any  cost." 

"What  can  be  done,  my  son?"  said  the  aged 
mother.  "I'm  sure  our  kind  neighbor,  Judge 
Preston,  has  done  all  that  any  one  could  do  to  bring 
your  father  back  to  us." 

But  Walter  had  a  plan  he  had  revealed  to  no 
one.  Persuading  his  mother  to  make  a  short  visit 
to  a  relative  living  in  an  adjoining  county,  he  has- 
tened to  prepare  himself  for  a  journey.  He  first 
visited  the  county  seat  and  secured  a  petition  hav- 
ing the  signatures  of  all  men  of  prominence  there, 
for  many  of  them  knew  Walter's  father  personally. 

This  paper  set  forth  the  qualities  of  the  Bent- 
ley's  as  true  loving  Union  people,  and  praying  for 
the  return  of  Mr.  Bentley  to  his  family.  Walter 
called  upon  his  father  and  held  a  short  conversa- 
tion with  him,  but  did  not  say  a  word  about  the 
petition  or  what  he  intended  to  do.  After  pass- 
ing an  hour  or  two  with  his  parent,  he  bade  him 
good-bye,  saying  that  he  hoped  to  have  a  pleasant 
surprise  for  him  before  long. 

The  boy  went  out  and  made  his  way  to  the  rail- 


238  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

way  station  where  he  purchased  a  ticket  for  Wash- 
ington, for  Walter  had  a  plan  before  him  to  visit 
the  Secretary  of  War  in  his  father's  behalf. 

The  fare  being  considerable,  the  boy  after  an 
examination  of  his  remaining  funds,  found  he 
would  not  have  much  money  to  spend  outside  of 
his  return  ticket.  But  had  he  not  said  that  his  father 
must  be  released  at  any  cost?  And  the  brave  boy 
was  willing  to  make  any  sacrifice  in  his  father's  be- 
half. 

The  express  soon  drew  up  at  the  station,  and 
Walter  taking  passage  aboard,  found  himself  being 
carried  rapidly  toward  the  capitol  city  of  the  nation. 
Arriving  at  his  destination  at  the  close  of  day,  the 
boy  felt  that  he  could  not  afford  to  go  to  a  hotel,  so 
he  sought  less  expensive  accommodations  for  the 
night. 

Next  morning  he  was  up  bright  and  early.  He 
made  a  few  inquiries  at  the  place  where  he  ate  his 
breakfast,  and  there  learned  that  he  could  not  gain 
an  admittance  to  any  of  the  public  buildings  until 
after  nine  o'clock.  He  therefore  contented  him- 
self with  walking  up  to  the  capitol  building  and 
taking  a  view  of  its  massive  exterior,  but  as  soon  as 
the  clocks  in  the  city  pealed  out  the  hour  of  nine,  he 
hastened  to  the  War  "Department  building  and 


INTERVIEW   WITH    PRESIDENT   LINCOLN.  239 

sought  an  interview  with  the  Secretary,  to  whom 
he  presented  the  petition  he  had  with  him. 

The  Secretary  closely  examined  the  paper  and 
turning  to  the  boy,  kindly  asked  him  to  relate  the 
facts  incident  to  his  father's  arrest,  which  Walter 
did  in  a  straightforward  manner,  omitting  noth- 
ing. The  Secretary  smiled  pleasantly  on  the  lad 
for  he  could  not  help  but  admire  his  spirit. 

He  took  the  petition,  made  a  few  notes  on  the 
back  of  it  and  handed  it  over  to  a  clerk,  sitting  at  a 
desk  near  by,  then  turning  to  Walter  said,  "Well, 
my  boy,  we  will  attend  to  this  matter  in  a  few  days." 

"A  few  days?"  gasped  the  lad.  "Can't  you  do 
it  now?"  The  poor  boy  had  so  fondly  anticipated 
carrying  back  with  him  his  father's  release,  and  he 
had  not  come  to  Washington  prepared  to  make  a 
stay  of  even  a  few  days. 

The  Secretary  looked  up  with  an  amused  ex- 
pression on  his  grave  face.  "Yes,  my  boy,  I  said 
a  few  days.  Do  you  think  the  business  of  this 
great  government  is  fully  up  to  date?" 

"Yes,  but  this  is  only  a  small  matter,"  replied 
the  boy.  "I  am  not  prepared  to  stay  and  await 
your  decision,"  and  he  felt  the  red  come  and  go  in 
his  face. 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  remain,"  said  the 


24O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Secretary  in  a  kindly  tone,  for  he  saw  that  the  boy 
had  met  with  a  disappointment.  "I  will  attend  to 
this  in  due  time,  never  fear,"  and  with  this  he 
turned  to  his  stenographer  and  began  dictating  a 
letter. 

Walter  thanked  the  Secretary  for  the  audience 
he  had  given  him  and  bowed  himself  out,  but  it  was 
with  a  heavy  heart  that  he  took  his  way  down  the 
avenue  In  the  exuberance  of  his  youthful  spirit, 
he  had  pictured  himself  returning  to  his  home  car- 
rying with  him  the  paper  that  would  give  freedom 
to  his  aged  father. 

After  leaving  the  War  and  Navy  building,  he 
could  not  fail  to  notice  on  his  right,  standing  in 
among  the  trees,  a  fine  spacious  building  having  a 
beautiful  green  lawn  in  front  reaching  down  to 
the  street.  Noticing  the  entrance  to  the  grounds 
being  open  and  apparently  inviting  one  to  enter, 
the  boy  did  so,  and  slowly  walked  up  the  drive-way 
leading  to  the  building. 

Walter  was  pleased  to  see  that  everything  about 
the  place  bore  evidence  of  having  the  greatest  care 
and  attention.  The  lawn  being  well  covered  with 
grass  and  kept  closely  mowed. 

The  drive-way  appeared  as  though  it  had  been 
lately  swept  and  everything  about  the  place  evinced 


AN   ARREST   FRUSTRATED.  24! 

the  care  and  attention  bestowed  upon  it.  While 
he  was  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  his  surroundings, 
he  noticed  a  tall  angular  man  come  down  the  steps, 
that  led  up  to  the  building.  He  had  by  his  side  a 
small  boy  who  held  his  hand  as  they  walked. 
Walter  was  singularly  attracted  by  the  appearance 
of  the  man  coming  towards  him. 

He  felt  sure  he  had  met  this  man  somewhere 
before,  for  his  face  seemed  familiar.  It  was  not 
what  one  would  call  a  handsome  face,  but  there 
was  that  about  it  that  seemed  to  impel  you  to  take 
a  second  look.  The  gentleman  approaching  him 
was  not  showily  dressed,  but  an  air  of  neatness  per- 
vaded his  whole  attire.  His  long  coat  and  high 
silk  hat  made  him  appear  to  the  eyes  of  the  won- 
dering boy,  as  the  tallest  man  he  had  ever  seen. 

The  little  lad  walking  by  the  gentleman's  side 
appeared  to  be  of  a  delicate  build,  not  rugged  nor 
possessing  the  romping  spirit  usual  with  boys  of  his 
age.  He  walked  along  quietly  by  his  father's  side,, 
holding  his  hand  while  the  tall  man  would  fre- 
quently speak  to  him,  and  look  down  with  an  earn- 
est solicitude  upon  the  boy  at  his  side. 

Walter  at  first  felt  like  avoiding  the  couple  ad- 
vancing towards  him,  but  no  opportunity  present- 
ing itself,  he  stood  his  ground,  and  as  they  ap- 

16 


242  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

preached,  he  politely  lifted  his  cap  and  inquired  of 
the  tall  man  if  he  would  be  kind  enough  to  tell  him 
the  name  of  the  building  before  him. 

The  gentleman  paused  and  with  a  smile  light- 
ing up  his  care  worn  face,  kindly  replied,  "That,  my 
lad,  is  what  many  people  call  the  White  House." 

"Oh!"  interjected  Walter,  in  breathless  aston- 
ishment, for  all  of  a  sudden  he  realized  he  was 
standing  in  the  presence  of  a  man,  upon  whose  ac- 
tions at  that  time,  the  eyes  of  the  whole  civilized 
world  were  fixed  with  intense  interest.  Yes,  he 
was  face  to  face  with  Abraham  Lincoln,  President 
of  the  United  States. 

Now  he  recalled  why  the  man's  face  had  seemed 
so  familiar ;  he  had  ofttimes  studied  that  same  face 
in  his  father's  home,  for  was  not  his  bed  room 
adorned  with  a  picture  of  this  same  great  man? 

"You  seem  to  be  a  stranger  in  the  city,  my 
boy?"  And  again  the  grave  face  of  the  man  be- 
fore him  lit  up  with  a  smile,  for  it  was  refreshing 
to  the  President  to  meet  a  face  like  that  of  Walter's 
in  which  the  lines  of  cunning  deception  had  not 
been  drawn. 

He  saw  in  the  lad  before  him  a  counterpart  of 
himself  years  ago,  when  he  was  a  country  boy 
learning  his  first  lesson  of  life's  hardships  away  out 


Q  0  3  Q  I, 

an  QQ 


»> .  i  •  •"•"    — _ —       — ~ — 


"  You  seem  to  tc  a  stran  ;er  in  the  city,  my  boy  ?" 


AN   ARREST   FRUSTRATED.  245 

in  the  wilds  of  Indiana.  And  as  he  looked  upon 
the  young  man  before  him,  his  heart  was  irresistibly 
drawn  toward  this  young  stranger,  who  did  not 
seem  to  know  much  of  the  city. 

Walter  blushed  and  in  reply  to  the  President's 
inquiry  modestly  stated  that  he  had  arrived  in 
Washington  only  the  day  before. 

"And  may  I  ask  if  you  are  here  visiting  the  city 
as  a  sight-seer,  and  are  you  alone?" 

The  boy  felt  that  the  man  before  him  had  a 
right  to  ask  anything,  and  an  undisputed  right  to 
a  reply.  So  he  stated  that  he  was  alone,  and  upon 
a  matter  of  business  that  concerned  him  very  much. 

Walter  really  doubted  the  propriety  of  relating 
his  troubles  to  the  great  President  of  the  United 
States,  but  then  he  had  read  that  Abraham  Lincoln 
was  a  warm-hearted  man,  and  of  kindly  impulse 
towards  those  in  trouble. 

The  President's  face  now  took  upon  it  a  look  of 
fatherly  interest,  and  in  a  voice,  the  tone  of  which 
was  musical  and  full  of  feeling,  he  proceeded  to 
further  interrogate  the  boy  and  soon  drew  from 
Walter  the  entire  story  of  his  brother's  desertion, 
and  his  return  to  the  army  by  advice  of  his  father ; 
the  coming  of  the  Provost  and  his  father's  impru- 
dent attack  upon  them ;  his  arrest  and  detention  at 


246  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

the  county  seat ;  their  seeming  inability  to  have  him 
released;  then  of  the  journey  to  Washington  to  see 
the  Secretary,  and  the  presenting  of  the  petition  he 
carried  to  him. 

"And  what  did  Stanton  say?"  interrogated  the 
President,  who  had  all  the  while  been  an  attentive 
listener. 

"He  said  he  would  give  it  his  attention  in  a  few 
days,"  replied  Walter.  "But  I  cannot  afford  to  re- 
main any  length  of  time  waiting,  and  I  had  so 
fondly  hoped  to  carry  back  with  me  a  release  for  my 
father." 

"You  say  that  by  advice  of  your  father,  your 
brother  returned  to  the  army?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  wondering  boy. 

The  President  mused  for  a  few  moments,  then 
repeated  as  though  to  himself,  "Surely  a  father  who 
would  advise  the  return  of  his  son  to  the  army  can- 
not be  considered  as  being  disloyal  to  his  country." 
Turning  to  the  lad,  he  said,  "Come  with  me ;  the 
boy  who  is  willing  to  make  so  long  a  journey  in  be- 
half of  a  helpless  parent,  should  not  return  without 
a  reward."  And  he  led  the  way  back  to  the 
White  House,  ascending  the  steps  and  pointing  to 
a  room  on  the  left,  bade  Walter  enter  and  amuse 


AN   ARREST   FRUSTRATED.  247 

himself  until  his  return.     Then   leaving   him,   he 
made  his  way  to  his  private  office. 

Walter  entered  the  spacious  room  indicated, 
and  was  lost  in  amazement.  He  had  never  been  in 
a  room  before  so  large,  and  so  luxuriosly  furnished, 
everything  seemed  to  be  in  such  perfect  harmony 
of  color,  sky-blue  walls,  ceiling,  carpet,  and  even 
furniture  all  seemed  to  blend  together. 

The  boy  felt  that  he  dared  hardly  tread  upon 
the  rich  carpet,  and  to  sit  down  upon  one  of  the 
richly  upholstered  sofas,  Oh,  no!  he  dared  not 
think  of  attempting  it. 

While  he  stood  cap  in  hand,  taking  a  survey  of 
the  room,  and  its  rich  furnishings,  he  was  awak- 
ened from  the  spell  which  had  come  over  him  by 
the  return  of  the  President,  who  handed  him  a 
neatly  folded  paper,  telling  him  "he  might  now  re- 
turn home  and  present  the  document  to  the  officer 
in  charge  of  that  Military  District,  saying  it  was 
with  the  'Compliments  of  Abraham  Lincoln.'  ' 
Tears  of  joy  and  gratitude  welled  up  in  Walter's 
eyes,  for  he  realized  he  held  in  his  hand  his  father's 
pardon,  signed  by  the  President  of  the  United 
States. 

With  a  quivering  voice,  he  thanked  the  great 


248  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

man  before  him  who  now  seemed  to  Walter  to  loom 
up  taller  than  ever. 

"Never  mind,  my  boy,"  said  the  President,  "al- 
ways be  faithful  and  true  to  your  parents  while  they 
live,  and  you  will  never  lose  by  it."  And  with 
this  he  extended  him  a  large,  bony  hand  whjch 
though  strong  and  sinewy,  seemed  to  the  grateful 
boy  to  have  a  touch  like  unto  velvet. 

"Good-bye,  my  brave  little  man ;  remember  that 
when  you  want  anything  that  no  one  else  has  time 
to  attend  to,  don't  fail  to  call  upon  Abraham  Lin- 
coln," and  with  a  quaint  smile  over-spreading  his 
face,  he  accompanied  the  now  happy  Walter  to  the 
door  and  bowed  him  out. 

The  lad  sped  back  to  the  railway  depot  with  a 
heart  throbbing  with  joy.  He  had  no  time  to  take 
in  the  sights  of  a  great  city,  though  they  were  many 
and  quite  tempting. 

He  found  the  express  for  the  West  ready  to 
start  in  half  an  hour;  just  enough  time  for  him  to 
purchase  a  ticket  and  gulp  down  a  sandwich  and  a 
cup  of  coffee  at  the  lunch  counter. 

After  boarding  the  train,  he  found  time  to  ex- 
amine his  precious  document.  So  carefully  un- 
folding it,  he  gazed  long  and  earnestly  upon  its 
contents.  He  could  scarcely  believe  his  senses, 


AN   ARREST    FRUSTRATED.  249 

but  there  it  was  and  no  mistake.  A  full  and  com- 
plete pardon  of  all  charges  made  against  John  M. 
Bentley,  of  N ,  Pa.,  and  signed,  too,  by  Abra- 
ham Lincoln.  Oh,  how  he  wished  he  could  keep 
that  paper  just  to  show  the  signature  to  the  boys  in 
the  village  of  N . 

He  was  so  absorbed  in  looking  at  the  precious 
paper  before  him,  that  he  failed  to  notice  the  ap- 
proach of  the  conductor,  until  that  worthy  shook 
him  by  the  shoulder  and  said  sharply,  "Tickets!" 
Then  Walter  was  brought  back  to  his  present  sur- 
roundings and  hastily  searched  every  pocket  but 
the  right  one ;  at  last  to  his  great  relief,  he  found  the 
required  piece  of  pasteboard,  which  he  handed  to 
the  "Knight  of  the  Punch,"  who  appeared  to  be 
enjoying  the  lad's  confusion. 

The  train  seemed  to  Walter  to  crawl  along  at  a 
snail's  pace,  so  impatient  was  he  to  reach  his  home, 

but  at  last  it  arrived  at  G (the  county  seat) 

about  midnight,  and  Walter,  hunting  up  a  place  to 
spend  the  balance  of  the  night,  after  first  making 
sure  that  his  paper  was  still  safe  in  his  pocket,  with- 
out disrobing  threw  himself  across  the  bed  and 
soon  sank  into  a  heavy  slumber,  for  the  boy's 
nerves  had  been  at  a  high  tension  for  the  past  two 
days.  The  tired  lad  slept  soundly,  but  with  the 


ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

coming  of  morning  was  astir,  and  after  securing  a 
breakfast,  he  waited  impatiently  for  the  hour  when 
he  might  find  the  military  official  in  his  office.  It 
came  at  last,  and  it  was  with  no  little  degree  of  pride 
that  he  waited  upon  that  officer  and  presented  his 
paper.  -\ 

Major  Cribbs  adjusted  his  glasses  and  pro- 
ceeded to  peruse  the  document.  "Bless  my  stars, 
boy,  but  you  are  a  trump !"  he  exclaimed  as  he  read 
the  signature.  "And  did  you  get  this  paper  your- 
self?" 

Walter  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  the 
officer  turning,  grasped  him  heartily  by  the  hand, 
saying  he  was  mighty  glad  to  see  a  boy  with  such 
a  spirit. 

He  at  once  ordered  the  release  of  Mr.  Bentley, 
and  we  need  not  say  the  meeting  of  father  and  son 
was  a  joyful  one. 

"So  this  is  the  surprise  you  promised  me,  my 
son?"  said  the  proud  father.  "Well,  you  have 
shown  what  a  determined  spirit  may  be  able  to  do, 
and  you  surely  have  a  father's  gratitude." 

Together  they  journeyed  homeward,  and  the 
return  of  father  and  son  was  a  joyful  surprise  to  the 
aged  mother.  Truly  there  was  a  great  time  of  re- 
joicing in  the  Bentley  homestead.  Judge  Preston 


AN   ARREST   FRUSTRATED.  251 

xame  over  to  compliment  Walter  upon  the  success 
of  his  mission  for  he  had  learned  of  his  securing  the 
petition  at  the  county  seat. 

The  news  of  Walter's  adventure  getting  abroad, 
he  was  for  a  time  the  hero  of  the  village,  and  many 
were  the  interviews  sought  of  him  by  young  and 
old,  to  learn  just  how  the  President  looked  and  how 
he  talked,  and  what  Walter  thought  of  the  White 
House.  And  thus  he  had  to  tell  the  story  over  and 
over  again,  while  the  boy  did  his  best  to  impress 
upon  his  auditors  that  the  man  who  occupied  the 
White  House  was  a  very  worthy  occupant  for  such 
a  pretentious  edifice. 


252  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AGAIN  A  SOLDIER-VILLAINY  OF  WILLIAMS. 

ET  us  now  see  how  it  has  been  faring 

w**k  t^ie  kero  °*  our  story* 

Andrew  Bentley,  after  taking  leave  of 
his  brother  Walter  on  the  morning  re- 
ferred to,  set  his  face  resolutely  in  the  direction  of 
the  railway.  His  blood  burned  in  his  veins  with 
resentment.  To  be  hunted  down  like  a  wild  ani- 
mal was  a  very  bitter  reflection.  He  avoided  the 
highways  as  much  as  possible.  He  felt  depressed 
in  spirit,  for  was  he  not  being  forced  away  without 
a  farewell  blessing  from  father  and  mother,  and 
then  he  had  failed  to  get  even  a  line  from  Annie. 

But  his  mind  was  made  up,  he  would  be  a  ref- 
ugee no  longer.  He  never  doubted  his  love  for  the 
flag  of  his  country.  It  was  still  dear  to  him,  but  he 
would  serve  under  it  of  his  own  voluntary  choice, 
and  prove  his  loyalty  to  his  country's  cause. 

His  aim  was  to  strike  the  railroad  at  a  station 
some  distance  from  N .  Noon-time  arriv- 
ing, he  managed  to  secure  his  dinner  at  a  farm 


AGAIN  A  SOLDIER — VILLAINY   OF   WILLIAMS.      253 

house  by  the  way,  then  trudged  slowly  on,  and  by 
nightfall  he  found  himself  nearing  a  way-station 
many  miles  distant  from  N . 

This  was  a  coaling  station,  and  Andrew  knew 
that  trains  both  eastward  and  westward  bound 
stopped  at  this  place  for  coal,  and  would  thus  afford 
him  a  good  opportunity  to  get  on  board. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  in  the  distance  his 
quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  an  approaching 
train.  Soon  the  whistle  sounded  down  brakes,  and 
in  a  few  moments  the  east-bound  express  drew  up, 
stopped,  and  proceeded  to  take  coal.  This  was 
Andrew's  opportunity  and  he  quickly  swung  him- 
self up  the  steps  and  entered  the  car. 

Travel  being  heavy,  the  car  was  crowded,  and 
it  was  with  some  difficulty  Andrew  could  secure  a 
seat.  At  last  finding  one,  he  sank  down  wearily 
into  it  and  awaited  the  coming  of  the  conductor. 
That  necessary  contingent  to  all  passenger  railway 
trains  put  in  an  appearance  and  our  weary  traveler 
not  having  a  ticket,  handed  him  a  bank-note, 
quietly  remarking,  "One  fare  to  Philadelphia." 
The  necessary  change  was  returned  to  him  and  the 
collector  of  fares,  after  giving  him  a  close  scrutiny, 
moved  on. 

Andrew  left  to  himself,  settled  down  in  his  seat 


254  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

to  ruminate  over  the  events  of  the  past  few  weeks. 
He  felt  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  leaving  the 
ranks,  but  yet  he  did  not  have  a  feeling  of  regret, 
for  now  he  was  about  to  enter  upon  an  entire  dif- 
ferent service  from  that  which  he  had  left  behind 
so  unceremoniously  on  that  May  day  in  the  Wil- 
derness. 

He  had  his  mind  made  up  what  he  would  do 
upon  reaching  the  city  towards  which  he  was  fast 
hastening. 

Everybody  in  N by  this  time  felt  con- 
vinced that  Andrew  Bentley  had  not  been  lost  on 
the  battlefield  as  they  had  believed,  but  that  he  had 
returned  home  without  permission  was  quite  evi- 
dent, else  why  this  visit  of  the  Provost  and  his  men. 
That  they  had  failed  to  secure  him  was  a  source  of 
much  satisfaction  to  many  of  his  friends.  But  of 
his  whereabouts  they  were  at  a  loss  to  know. 

Henry  Williams  was  still  at  work  in  his  father's 
store.  He  did  not  mingle  much  in  society,  for  he 
felt  that  his  attitude  towards  the  Bentley' s  did  not 
meet  the  approval  of  the  community,  although  his 
dastardly  attempts  in  two  instances  to  do  Andrew 
Bentley  violence  had  never  been  exposed,  Andrew 
deeming  it  better  not  to  inform  any  of  the  folks  at 
home  of  Henry's  conduct  towards  him. 


AGAIN  A  SOLDIER VILLAINY   OF   WILLIAMS.       2$$ 

The  war  spirit  was  still  in  the  ascendency,  and 
nearly  all  of  the  male  members  of  the  Academy  of 
N having  reached  the  proper  age,  had  en- 
listed and  gone  to  the  front,  and  it  was  now  no  un- 
usual thing  to  find  at  an  evening  gathering  of  the 
young  folks,  that  those  of  the  gentler  sex  far  out- 
numbered those  of  the  sterner  sort. 

So  Henry  Williams  was  practically  what  the 
youth  of  the  village  dubbed  him,  'The  Home 
Guard,"  but  he  preferred  to  endure  all  the  epithets 
they  might  hurl  at  him  in  preference  to  a  soldier's 
life.  His  army  experience  was  far  from  being  a 
pleasant  remembrance. 

He  felt  that  fortune  had  not  favored  him.  His 
desire  to  possess  the  hand  of  the  fair  Annie  Pres- 
ton grew  with  every  attempt  to  interview  her. 
Had  his  valor  as  a  soldier  proven  as  great  as  that  of 
a  lover,  Henry  Williams  would  not  have  suffered 
for  renown  upon  the  field  of  fame.  Although 
Henry  had  met  with  almost  absolute  defeat,  he 
still  held  tenaciously  to  the  thought  that  some  day 
her  heart  might  soften  towards  him,  and  more  es- 
pecially now,  since  his  rival,  Andrew  Bentley,  was 
under  a  cloud. 

How  fortunate  he  thought  it  was  that  he  had 
witnessed  Andrew's  return  and  learned  that  he  was 


256  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

a  deserter  from  the  ranks.  It  had  placed  him  in  his 
power,  and  he  mentally  resolved  he  would  be  upon 
the  lookout  should  the  deserter  again  return,  for 
Henry  was  in  total  ignorance  of  Andrew's  move- 
ments and  so  far  as  the  rest  of  the  Bentley  family 
was  concerned,  they  maintained  a  feeling  of  reserve 
towards  the  family  of  Squire  Williams. 

In  August  of  this  year,  Captain  George  Coulter 
and  Lieutenant  Alpheus  Forrest  came  home  on  a 
veteran  furlough.  Their  time  of  service  having  ex- 
pired, both  had  re-enlisted  and  were  now  proudly 
wearing  their  veteran  stripes. 

Truly  they  were  the  lions  of  the  day,  and  were 
petted  and  made  of,  to  their  heart's  content. 

But  while  the  young  patriots  were  being  lion- 
ized at  home,  what  of  Andrew  Bentley? 

The  train  on  which  he  traveled  landed  him  safe 
in  the  city  of  "Brotherly  love,"  and  he  had  gone  at 
once  to  a  restaurant  to  refresh  the  inner  man. 
Then  next,  to  a  tonsorial  artist  where  he  received  a 
shave  and  hair  cut,  which  so  much  improved  his 
appearance  that  we  doubt  if  he  would  have  been 
readily  recognized  by  the  loving  Walter.  Next  he 
hunted  up  a  recruiting  office,  which  soon  being 
found,  he  entered  and  in  a  short  time  was  enrolled 
under  the  name  of  James  Bentley  in  Company  M 


AGAIN  A  SOLDIER — VILLAINY  OF  WILLIAMS.      257 

of  the nd  Pennsylvania  Cavalry.  His  full 

name  had  been  that  of  James  Andrew,  and  as  he 
had  formerly  been  enrolled  as  Andrew,  he  now  con- 
cluded he  would  try  his  fortunes  under  the  cogno- 
men of  James. 

Had  Annie  Preston  been  there,  she  would 
surely  have  admired  the  handsome  athletic  young 
soldier,  who  merged  from  the  recruiting  office  clad 
in  his  bright  new  cavalry  uniform. 

James,  as  we  must  now  call  him,  was  an  entire 
stranger  in  the  city,  but  he  did  not  have  a  long  time 
for  sight  seeing,  for  new  recruits  were  being  rap- 
idly hurried  on  to  the  front,  and  soon  he,  with  a 
number  of  others,  were  sent  forward  to  Camp 
Stoneman  near  Annapolis,  Md.,  this  being  a  ren- 
dezvous for  dismounted  cavalry  men. 

It  was  from  this  place  our  hero  sent  his  first  let- 
ter home  relating  his  experience.  It  was  a  wel- 
come message  to  a  sorrowing  father  and  mother,  as 
well  as  a  waiting  brother.  This  letter  did  much 
to  cheer  them  and  lighten  the  gloom  that  hung 
over  them  ever  since  the  boy's  return  home. 
James  also  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Annie  Preston. 
It  was  full  of  love  and  tenderness.  He  stated  how 
he  had  all  the  time  felt  a  thralldom  while  serving  as. 
a  drafted  man ;  that  when  he  left  the  ranks  it  was. 

17 


2$8  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

with  no  thought  of  really  deserting  his  colors,  but 
one  step  had  led  to  another.  But  now  he  was  re- 
tracing them,  and  his  whole  aim  was  to  prove 
worthy  of  his  calling.  He  begged  of  her  to  over- 
look his  past  indiscretion  and  allow  him  to  hold  his 
place  as  of  old  in  her  affections.  He  entreated  her 
to  write  to  him,  if  only  a  line,  but  to  address  him 
as  James  instead  of  Andrew,  that  being  the  name 
under  which  he  was  enrolled.  He  explained  that 
he  had  done  this  to  avoid  any  trouble  that  might 
arise  from  his  old  regiment,  and  as  it  was  a  part  of 
his  surname,  it  was  perfectly  legal  for  him  to  do  so. 
Much  else  did  our  soldier  boy  write,  which  could 
not  help  but  find  its  way  to  Annie's  heart.  In  due 
time  Annie  received  this  missive  of  love,  and  as  she 
read  it,  she  could  not  help  but  feel  that  she  had 
been  a  little  harsh  and  perhaps  too  severe  in  her 
criticism  of  her  lover's  actions. 

James  had  enclosed  a  tin-type  picture  of  himself 
taken  in  his  new  cavalry  uniform,  upon  which  An- 
nie gazed  long  and  earnestly,  each  moment  feeling 
her  heart  warming  with  love  and  affection  for  the 
honest  manly  face  that  looked  out  at  her  from  the 
picture. 

The  barriers  of  pride  were  swept  away,  and  she 
at  once  repaired  to  her  room  to  write  a  long,  lov- 


AGAIN  A  SOLDIER — VILLAINY   OF   WILLIAMS.       259 

ing  reply  to  James,  to  assure  him  of  her  affection. 
This  letter  was    sent  over  to   the   post   office   at 

N by  the  hired  man,  but  sad  to  relate  it  went 

no  farther. 

Henry  Williams,  doing  most  of  the  work  in  his 
father's  store,  had  been  deputized  to  handle  the 
mail,  so  when  he  came  to  put  up  the  evening  mail, 
he  noticed  the  letter  addressed  to  James  Bentley 
and  recognizing  Annie  Preston's  handwriting,  in 
the  wickedness  of  his  heart  he  concluded  it  would 
be  perfectly  proper  for  him  to  look  into  its  con- 
tents, so  instead  of  finding  its  wray  into  the  mail- 
sack,  it  found  its  way  into  Henry's  pocket. 

Mail  came  to  Camp  Stoneman  for  James  Bent- 
ley,  but  not  the  letter  he  so  eagerly  looked  for.  In 
a  few  days,  horses  being  received,  the  entire  com- 
mand was  sent  forward  to  join  the  regiment  at  the 
front,  and  our  hero  once  more  found  himself  upon 
Virginia  soil. 

James  was  at  a  loss  to  know  why  he  had  re- 
ceived no  letter  from  Annie  Preston.  He  thought 
it  barely  possible  that  his  letter  had  gone  astray, 
and  having  changed  camp,  he  concluded  he  would 
write  once  again,  so  sitting  down,  he  carefully 
penned  another  long  epistle  to  the  only  woman  in 
the  world  for  him,  pleading  with  her,  that  if  he  had 


26O  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

lost  his  place  in  her  heart,  to  at  least  pen  him  a  word 
of  farewell.  This  he  carried  over  to  Brandy  Sta- 
tion and  mailed  it  himself,  not  trusting  it  to  go  out 
in  the  regimental  mail.  This  letter,  like  Annie's, 

did  not  pass  beyond  the  N post  office,  for 

when  the  mail  came  in  that  winter  evening,  the  jeal- 
ous eyes  of  Henry  signaled  it  out  and  transferred 
it  to  his  own  pocket,  for  he  felt  sure  it  was  from  his 
old  rival. 

When  Judge  Preston  returned  home  with  the 
mail  that  evening  and  threw  it  upon  the  center  ta- 
ble, Annie  found  none  from  her  lover,  which  caused 
her  a  pang  of  disappointment,  for  it  was  now  some 
weeks  since  she  had  written  to  him,  and  she  was 
sure  he  would  have  answered  it  ere  this,  if  all  had 
been  well.  Thus  she  waited,  each  mail  day,  ex- 
pecting a  letter,  and  each  time  suffering  disappoint- 
ment, and  so  the  winter  days  went  by. 

Henry  Williams  was  obliged  to  admire  Annie 
at  a  distance  for  she  never  went  to  places 
where  she  would  likely  meet  him.  She  had  a  feel- 
ing that  he  had  played  the  part  of  a  spy  upon  An- 
drew when  he  came  home,  and  her  honorable  soul 
rose  in  indignation  at  the  thought  of  it.  She  knew 
he  was  base,  but  did  not  for  a  moment  think  he  was 
guilty  of  tampering  with  the  mail,  and  the  cause 


AGAIN  A  SOLDIER — VILLAINY   OF   WILLIAMS.      26 1 

of  so  much  disappointment  to  her.  Chance,  how- 
ever, threw  them  together  one  evening  at  a  little 
surprise  party  given  to  a  worthy  couple  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  Henry  thought  it  best  to  improve  his  op- 
portunity. 

He  patiently  waited  until  he  found  Annie  alone, 
and  seating  himself  by  her  side  tried  to  open  up 
a  conversation.  He  began  by  asking  if  she  would 
not  at  least  show  him  the  courtesy  of  a  neighbor. 

She  said  she  hoped  she  always  had,  but  as  her 
time  was  much  engaged,  she  could  devote  but  lit- 
tle to  pleasure. 

"Yes,  I  suppose,"  said  Henry,  "your  corres- 
pondence with  the  boys  at  the  front  must  take  a 
good  part  of  your  time." 

"Annie's  face  burned  with  this  insult  and  she 
replied  hotly,  "It  would  be  more  profitable  to  spend 
all  my  time  in  writing  letters  to  cheer  our  brave 
soldiers  than  to  waste  one  moment  talking  to  a 
'cowardly  stay  at-home/  "  and  rising  she  abruptly 
left  him. 

It  was  Henry's  turn  to  be  angry  and  as  he 
looked  after  her  he  muttered  under  his  breath, 
"Write  all  you  want  to,  but  little  good  will  it  do 
you." 


262  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Annie  could  not  bear  the  suspense  of  her  lover's 
silence.  She  paid  a  visit  to  Farmer  Bentley's,  al- 
though her  visits  of  late  had  not  been  so  frequent 
but  she  wanted  to  learn  something  of  her  Andrew 
(she  best  loved  to  call  him  by  that  name).  She 
found  the  father  and  mother  had  been  receiving  let- 
ters from  him  regularly,  that  all  had  been  going 
well.  The  father  stated  with  a  ring  of  pride  in  his 
voice  that  James  had  been  made  the  "orderly  ser- 
geant" of  his  company  and  that  he  proposed  stay- 
ing till  the  close  of  the  war. 

Annie  was  much  annoyed  to  think  that  letters 
were  passing  regularly  between  James  and  his  par- 
ents, but  no  reply  to  hers.  She,  however,  pro- 
cured his  address,  hastened  home  and  another  let- 
ter was  written,  this  time  not  so  long  for  she  could 
not  think  but  that  James  must  surely  have  received 
her  other  letter,  and  hence  we  must  excuse  her  for 
feeling  a  bit  piqued. 

She  mailed  this  letter  with  the  prayer  that  it 
might  bring  her  back  an  answer,  if  only  just  a  line. 
Had  she  not  been  brought  up  with  the  highest 
sense  of  honor,  she  might  have  had  a  suspicion  that 
all  was  not  right  in  the  office  at  home.  The  same 
with  James,  he  did  not  dream  of  any  one  daring  to 
intercept  his  letters.  He  had  written  again,  but  no 


AGAIN  A  SOLDIER — VILLAINY   OF   WILLIAMS.      263 

reply,  and  so  it  was  that  they  both  waited  and 
watched  in  vain. 

Annie  felt  hurt;  she  had  fully  and  freely  for- 
given her  soldier  boy  lover,  but  his  silence  was  kill- 
ing her.  She  grew  weary  and  hollow-eyed  with 
disappointment  after  disappointment,  until  at  last 
she  lost  interest  in  the  coming  of  the  mail. 

She  would  occasionally  hear  through  other 
sources  of  the  heroism  and  daring  of  James  Bentley 
for,  failing  to  receive  any  news  from  Annie,  James 
grew  indifferent  to  his  surroundings.  Naturally 
brave  and  courageous,  he  became  daring  even  to 
recklessness.  In  the  battle  of  Waynesborough,  in 
which  his  regiment  was  engaged,  he  personally 
captured  five  infantrymen  of  an  Alabama  regi- 
ment and  brought  them,  unaided,  into  the  Union 
lines.  For  this  act,  he  was  made  first  lieutenant 
of  his  company.  Again  when  the  attack  was  made 
on  Fort  Steadman,  March  25th,  he  won  promi- 
nence by  boldly  scaling  the  breastworks  and  snatch- 
ing the  Confederate  colors  from  the  flag  staff,  bear- 
ing them  off  in  triumph. 

This  won  him  the  bars  of  a  captain,  and  the  pa- 
pers at  home  as  well  as  those  abroad,  spoke  in  glow- 
ing terms  of  the  daring  young  cavalry  officer. 
Annie  heard  all  this  in  her  home,  and  felt  in  her 


264  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

heart  a  secret  joy  that  her  once  soldier  lover  was 
gaining  such  renown. 

"James  Andrew  Bentley  is  comin'  out  on  top 
after  all,"  said  old  Cobbler  King,  who  had  watched 
the  movements  of  his  favorite.  This  was  said  one 
morning  in  Squire  Williams'  store. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Squire,  "it  will  likely  be  nip  and 
tuck  betwixt  him  and  our  boy  George.  Well,  I 
don't  envy  either  of  them  their  honors ;  they  both 
deserve  it." 


BENTLEY  CARRIES  A   MESSAGE.  265 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BENTLEY  CARRIES  A  MESSAGE. 

IEUTENANT  Forrest  and  his  comrade, 
returned  to  the  front  at  the  expiration 
of  their  furlough  and,  taking  part  in  an 
engagement  which  took  place  soon  after 
their  return,  the  martial  career  of  Alpheus  was  sud- 
denly cut  short  by  his  receiving  a  serious  wound  in 
the  breast. 

They  deemed  it  best  to  send  the  young  officer 
direct  home,  as  he  would  be  thus  insured  more 
careful  nursing  than  would  fall  to  his  lot  in  the 
crowded  hospitals.  So  the  wounded  soldier  was 
soon  back  under  his  father's  roof.  But  Alpheus 
felt  that  he  had  only  come  home  to  die. 

His  wound  while  not  painful,  was  daily  sapping 
his  life  blood.  He  lay  quietly  for  hours  during  the 
bright  Autumnal  days,  looking  out  upon  the  fields 
and  meadows  in  which  he  had  so  often  played  when 
a  boy,  and  which  he  would  never  tread  again.  His 
thoughts  were  no  doubt  dwelling  far  out  on 

"Sw,eet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood, 
All  dressed  in  living  green," 


266  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

For  Alpheus  had  received  the  witness  of  the 
Spirit  and  was  only  awaiting  the  call  of  the  great 
Commander. 

It  came  at  the  close  of  a  mild  October  day,  and 
the  young  soldier  answered  "ready,"  and  went  out 
to  that  land  where  they  know  no  war. 

For  the  third  time  the  quiet  people  of 
N were  called  to  mourn,  and  now  they  fol- 
lowed in  funeral  procession  to  the  burial  ground 
where  they  laid  the  body  of  the  young  martyr. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  attack  upon  Fort 
Steadman,  and  while  Captain  Bentley's  daring  act 
of  snatching  the  Confederate  colors  from  the  hands 
of  the  apparent  victors,  was  yet  the  talk  of  the 
camp,  that  the  Commander-in-Chief  sat  in  council 
with  some  of  his  officers. 

They  were  discussing  the  best  plan  of  making 
a  "coup-de-grace"  upon  the  enemy's  forces. 

As  their  deliberations  assumed  shape,  it  was 
evident  that  a  trusty  courier  would  be  needed  to 
carry  the  plan  agreed  upon  to  Sheridan,  who  was 
then  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bermuda  Hundred. 

It  was  Grant's  purpose  to  effect  a  coalition  of 
the  force  under  the  daring  cavalry  chieftain  with 


BENTLEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE.  26/ 

that  of  his  own,  and  at  once  compel  the  evacuation 
or  surrender  of  Petersburg. 

After  all  the  details  had  been  discussed  the 
question  arose  as  to  a  trusty  and  reliable  messen- 
ger, to  carry  the  message  to  Sheridan. 

Various  names  were  suggested  but  none  seemed 
practicable. 

Looking  up  from  the  map  which  he  had  been 
intently  studying,  and  directing  his  attention  to 
General  Warren,  who  formed  one  of  the  council, 
Grant  quietly  said :  "General,  who  is  that  young 
cavalry  officer  that  so  distinguished  himself  at  the 
assault  on  Fort  Steadman  the  other  day,  and  of 
whom  I  have  been  hearing  such  favorable  reports 
of  late?" 

"That  is  Captain  Bentley,  of  Colonel  Gray's 
command,"  replied  Warren,  "and  a  fine,  daring 
young  soldier  he  is,"  he  added  warmly. 

"Think  you  he  would  be  willing  to  carry  a  mes- 
sage to  Sheridan?"  inquired  Grant. 

"I  think  Captain  Bentley  would  be  ready  and 
willing  to  undertake  anything  you  might  require 
of  him  in  the  line  of  a  soldier's  duty,"  answered 
General  Warren.  "His  colonel  tells  me  he  has 
never  known  him  to  shrink  from  a  single  responsi- 


268  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

bility  since  he  joined  his  regiment,  and  I  believe  he 
entered  as  a  private. 

A  pleased  smile  lit  up  the  grave  face  of  the  silent 
chieftain,  and  he  quietly  remarked:  "Gentlemen, 
give  me  an  army  of  soldiers  and  officers  like  that, 
and  I  will  end  this  rebellion  to-morrow." 

It  was  decided  to  send  an  orderly  to  the  head- 
quarters of  the  colonel  of  the ,  Penna.  Cav- 
alry, and  ask  him  to  have  Captain  Bentley,  of  his 
regiment,  to  report  at  once  to  the  comanding  gen- 
eral. 

It  had  been  an  unusually  warm  day  for  so  early 
in  the  spring,  and  the  evening  was  sultry. 

Captain  Bentley  having  just  returned  to  camp 
from  a  season  of  picket  duty  as  officer  of  the  guard, 
was  feeling  somewhat  worn  and  fatigued  from  his 
long  vigil. 

He  had  thrown  aside  his  uniform  coat,  loos- 
ened his  cravat,  and  was  sitting  within  his  tent 
quietly  enjoying  the  fragrance  of  his  cigar,  while 
he  examined  his  mail  which  lay  upon  the  table  be- 
fore him,  when  he  heard  hasty  steps  approaching. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  flaps  of  his  tent  were  parted, 
and  the  familiar  face  of  Colonel  Gray  appeared  in 
the  opening. 


BENTLEY  CARRIES  A   MESSAGE.  269 

"Hellow,  Bentley !  I  am  glad  to  find  you  in ;  T 
have  a  particular  request  for  you." 

"Pray  what  is  it?"  responded  Bentley,  with  an 
inquiring  look  in  his  handsome  eyes. 

"Can't  say,"  replied  the  officer.  "All  I  know  is 
Grant  has  sent  for  you  to  report  at  once  to  his 
headquarters." 

"Grant!"  ejaculated  Captain  Bentley  in  aston- 
ishment. "Wonder  what  he  can  possibly  want 
with  me?" 

"I  can't  say,"  again  reiterated  the  colonel ;  "only 
make  haste,  for  'taps'  will  soon  be  sounded. 
Good  night,  Captain.  May  you  have  a  pleasant 
interview  with  the  general,"  and  with  this  Colonel 
Gray  took  his  departure. 

Bentley  at  once  donned  his  coat,  buckled  on  his 
sword  belt,  then  extinguishing  his  light  he  quickly 
made  his  way  toward  the  headquarters  of  the 
Commander-in-Chief,  all  the  while  his  mind  in  a 
quandary  as  to  the  import  of  the  call,  for  he  had 
never  before  be  summoned  into  the  presence  of 
this  great  leader  of  men. 

As  he  neared  the  locality  he  recognized  the 
place  occupied  by  the  General,  it  being  a  small 
frame  house  with  portico  and  yard  in  front,  before 
which  a  sentry  paced  restlessly  up  and  down,  while 


2/O  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

on  the  portico  stood  a  trooper  of  his  own  com- 
mand who  was  acting  then  in  the  capacity  of  an  or- 
derly for  the  General. 

Passing  the  sentry  in  the  yard,  Bentley  ascended 
the  steps  and  inquired  of  the  orderly  where  he 
might  find  Grant. 

The  soldier  led  the  way  to  a  room  on  the  right 
of  the  hall,  rapped  lightly  on  the  door,  and  at  the 
invitation  to  "Come  in,"  opened  it  and  with  the 
announcement  of  "Captain  Bentley,"  quickly  with- 
drew, leaving  the  young  officer  with  this  simple  in- 
troduction, standing  in  the  presence  of  the  man 
who  at  that  time  held  in  his  hand  the  reins  of  abso- 
lute control  of  all  military  power.  Bentley  gave 
the  military  salute  and  stood  at  attention. 

Grant  raised  his  eyes  from  a  map  which  he  had 
been  closely  examining,  and  in  a  quiet  tone  bade 
him  be  seated,  then  resumed  the  study  of  the  map 
before  him. 

Bentley  took  a  seat  upon  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table  and  was  now  privileged  to  inspect  at  short 
range  the  man  whose  name  and  fame  was  spread 
broadcast  over  all  the  land. 

He  seemed  to  be  only  an  ordinary  man  in  gen- 
eral appearance,  no  show  of  military  pomp  and 
splendor,  characteristic  of  many  generals  that 


BENTLEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE. 

Bentley  had  seen  in  camp  and  on  the  field  of  ser- 
vice. This  man  before  him,  at  whose  word  of 
command  legions  would  move  without  question, 
seemed  unassuming  in  his  manner  and  surely  was 
plain  and  simple  in  his  dress.  His  head  was  bare, 
and  as  it  was  slightly  bent  over  the  map,  which  lay 
upon  the  table,  Bentley  could  clearly  discern  the 
perfect  contour  and  formation  of  it,  while,  al- 
though the  face  was  partly  hidden  by  a  short  red- 
dish brown  beard,  he  could  still  see  the  square  for- 
mation of  the  jaw,  indicative  of  the  strength  and 
decision  of  character  that  had  characterized  its 
owner  in  all  his  movements. 

In  a  few  moments  Grant  quietly  folded  the  pa- 
per, looked  up  and  with  a  pleasant  smile,  said  as  he 
extended  his  hand  across  the  table,  "Captain  Bent- 
ley,  I  believe?  I  have  heard  favorably  of  you  from 
your  superiors  and  have  sent  for  you." 

Bentley's  heart  throbbed  with  a  feeling  of  hon- 
est pride  and  gratification,  such  as  he  had  never 
known  since  his  first  entrance  into  the  army,  and  in 
the  confusion  for  the  moment  that  came  over  him, 
he  merely  bowed  his  acknowledgement. 

"Captain  Bentley,"  continued  Grant,  not  ap- 
parently noticing  the  officer's  embarrassment,  "I 
have  a  duty  for  a  trusty  messenger  to  perform,  and 


272  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

as  such  we  have  selected  you."  It  would  be  need- 
less to  say  that  the  flush  in  Bentley's  face  height- 
ened at  this  announcement. 

"The  information  which  you  are  asked  to  carry 
is  of  vital  importance,  and  should  only  be  surren- 
dered with  life  itself.  Yes,  I  might  add  not  even 
then,  for  means  should  be  taken  to  place  it  beyond 
the  reach  of  any  who  should  not  possess  it,"  and 
with  this  he  placed  upon  the  table  four  ordinary 
cartridges,  such  as  were  then  in  use  by  the  cavalry 
who  carried  a  repeating  carbine  in  addition  to  their 
sabre. 

The  General  noticing  the  puzzled  look  upon 
Captain  Bentley's  face,  proceeded  to  explain. 
"Two  of  these  cartridges  contain  bullets  hollowed 
out,  in  which  is  placed  a  communication  I  desire 
very  much  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  General 
Sheridan,  now  at  Bermuda  Hundred,  with  the 
greatest  possible  dispatch. 

"Part  of  the  way  will  be  through  a  section  of 
the  country  now  infested  with  cut-throats  and  guer- 
rillas, who  will  hesitate  at  nothing  to  accomplish 
their  ends,  and  who  pay  no  respect  to  either  the 
Blue  or  the  Gray,  although  their  choice  would  be 
to  favor  the  Confederate  army. 

"I  would  suggest  that  in  event  of  your  capture 


BENTLEY    CARRIES   A    MESSAGE. 

by  any  of  these  robbers — that  you  will  if  you  find 
it  absolutely  necessary — in  some  way  or  other  de- 
stroy these  cartridges ;  at  least  two  of  them,  which 
you  will  notice  is  of  darker  color  than  the  others. 

"You  will  use  your  own  judgment  as  to  your 
way  and  manner  of  procedure,  and  now,  sir,  may 
I  ask,  are  you  ready  to  perform  this  mission?" 

Captain  Bentley  bowed  again,  and  rising  quietly 
remarked:  "A  soldier  should  always  hold  himself 
ready  to  fulfill  orders  given  him." 

"Well  spoken,  young  man,"  said  the  chieftain 
also  rising,  and  again  extending  him  his  hand.  "I 
wish  you  the  success  that  should  always  be  the  re- 
ward of  those  faithful  in  the  performance  of  a  duty.1' 

This  closed  the  interview  and  Captain  Bentley, 
making  the  usual  salute,  took  his  departure. 

He  at  once  repaired  to  his  tent  and  proceeded 
to  equip  himself  for  his  journey.  When  he 
emerged  he  carried  in  his  right  hand  a  well-filled 
canvas  sack  known  and  recognized  at  that  time  as 
a  soldier's  haversack.  He  carried  no  weapons  that 
were  visible,  but  he  had  thrust  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  his  blouse  a  small  pistol  of  the  Colt  pattern,  and 
as  he  did  this  a  smile  passed  over  his  countenance 
as  he  recalled  another  adventure  and  the  antique 
weapon  he  had  then  carried  for  protection,  and  as. 

18 


2/4  ANDREW    BENTLEY, 

his  mind  dwelt  on  other  scenes  he  sighed  and  said 
aloud  to  himself :  "Poor  Forrest ;  he  was  alive  then. 
Now  he  has  been  mustered  out — accepted  that  re- 
ward which  has  come  to  many  a  true  soldier  in  the 
performance  of  duty." 

With  this  feeling  of  sadness,  occasioned  by  the 
recall  of  the  death  of  his  former  companion  in  arms, 
Captain  Bentley  proceeded  to  prepare  his  charger 
for  the  journey,  which  having  accomplished,  he 
swung  himself  into  the  saddle  and  galloped  away  in 
the  darkness. 

His  aim  was  to  reach  the  house  of  an  old  farmer 
who,  during  the  summer  and  autumn  of  the  pre- 
vious year,  when  their  camp  was  nearer,  had  fre- 
quently come  into  their  lines  with  produce  for  sale, 
at  which  time  Captain  Bentley  had  made  his  ac- 
quaintance. 

He  knew  he  could  do  this  after  several  hours' 
ride,  and  at  this  place  he  purposed  to  leave  his 
horse  and  take  his  chances  afoot. 

Having  passed  the  out-posts  of  his  own  men, 
he  allowed  his  horse  to  drop  into  a  walk  for  the 
night  was  dark,  and  Bentley  knew  that  his  greatest 
danger  lay  in  interception  by  that  class  referred  to 
by  his  general — the  vampire  element  who  preyed 
upon  either  army. 


BENTLEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE. 

He  rode  on  in  the  darkness  with  hearing  alert 
to  detect  any  unusual  sound,  but  nothing  fell  upon 
his  ear  but  the  chirp  of  the  tree-frog  or  the  cry  of 
some  night  bird  as  it  was  disturbed  in  its  retreat. 

As  the  young  officer  rode  along,  his  mind  hav- 
ing been  directed  to  the  past  by  recollections  of 
other  scenes,  it  quite  naturally  rested  upon  home, 
and  the  dear  ones  far  away. 

He  reviewed  the  past  three  years  of  his  life,  his 
starting  from  home  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  his 
experience  in  the  hospital,  his  second  entry  into 
the  army  as  a  conscript,  his  desertion,  his  return, 
and  now  his  present  term  of  service — truly  he  felt 
that  his  career  as  a  soldier  had  been  a  somewhat 
checkered  one. 

Then  his  thoughts  rested  upon  the  girl  he  could 
not  help  loving,  although  her  attitude  towards  him 
was  far  from  being  understood  by  our  hero,  and  he 
almost  unconsciously  repeated  to  himself,  as  he  had 
many  times  before:  "Surely  there  must  be  some 
mistake.  Annie  Preston,  I  know,  has  a  kind  and 
loving  heart." 

Captain  Bentley  had  apparently  relaxed  his 
vigilance  and  did  not  notice  the  form  that  seemed 
to  rise  up  out  of  the  darkness  and  gloom  of  the 
wayside,  but  his  faithful  steed  had,  and  instantly 


276  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

shied  to  the  one  side  as  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon 
the  bridle  rein  and  a  gruff  voice  said,  "Hand  over 
yer  shooting'  iron,  strenger,  fer  I've  got  the  drop 
on  ye." 

The  officer,  thus  rudely  awakened  from  his  re- 
verie lost  not  a  moment  of  thought,  but  quickly 
brought  the  heavily  leaded  stock  of  his  riding  whip 
with  all  the  force  he  could  summon  crashing  down 
upon  the  up-turned  face  at  his  side. 

The  man  immediately  released  his  hold  upon 
the  rein  and  with  a  groan  staggered  backward.  At 
the  same  moment  the  darkness  was  brilliantly  lit 
up  by  the  flash  of  burning  powder  and  a  deafen- 
ing report  rang  out  on  the  night  air  as  his  weapon 
went  off,  either  by  accident  or  design  we  know  not 
which. 

The  flash  for  an  instant  blinded  the  officer,  and 
the  deafening  report  so  close  to  his  ear  almost 
stunned  him,  while  the  bullet  whistled  harmlessly 
in  the  air. 

His  horse  feeling  the  freedom  of  rein  and  star- 
tled by  the  report,  sprang  away  in  the  darkness  at 
a  rapid  gait.  Just  then  another  report  was  heard, 
and  Bentley  felt  a  stinging  sensation  like  the  cut  of 
a  whip  flash  across  his  cheek,  and  putting  up  his 
hand  he  felt  the  blood  beginning  to  flow  from  a 


BENTLEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE.  277 

slight  abrasement  of  the  skin,  caused  by  the  pas- 
sage of  a  bullet. 

"Mighty  close  shave  for  a  shot  in  the  dark.  A 
little  more  and  it  would  have  finished  this  night's 
ride  for  me,  but  the  old  saying  is  'A  miss  is  as  good 
as  a  mile,'  although  this  was  not  exactly  a  miss,"  he 
remarked  as  with  his  handkerchief  he  wiped  away 
the  few  drops  of  blood  that  had  collected. 

All  the  while  his  horse  galloped  on  in  the  dark- 
ness, soon  placing  miles  between  his  enemies  and 
himself. 

It  was  not  far  from  midnight  as  he  drew  near 
the  home  of  the  farmer. 

Not  being  very  well  acquainted  with  the  coun- 
try beyond  this  point,  his  purpose  was  to  seek  a 
lodging  here  and  proceed  the  rest  of  the  way  on 
foot'  trusting  to  daylight  and  his  wits  to  enable  him 
to  steer  clear  of  the  many  guerrilla  bands  which  he 
knew  infested  the  country. 

He  did  not  doubt  that  his  interruption  on  the 
way  was  by  two  gentry  of  that  ilk  and  that  there 
were  two  of  them  he  felt  certain,  for  had  not  the 
bullet  which  left  its  mark  on  his  cheek  come  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  road? 

He  entertained  no  fears  of  further  trouble  from 
these  two,  for  had  he  not  inflicted  a  punishment 


278  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

(how  great  he  could  not  say)  upon  at  least  one  of 
them,  and  the  rapid  gait  of  his  horse  had  left  them 
many  miles  behind  him. 

As  he  rode  up  the  lane  leading  to  the  farm 
house,  his  approach  was  discovered  by  several  of 
the  canine  species  who  rushed  out  barking  fiercely, 
evidently  meaning  to  contest  his  farther  advance. 

Their  loud  barking,  however,  answered  one 
purpose,  that  of  arousing  the  inmates,  for  soon 
Bentley  saw  a  light  moving  through  the  house  and 
presently  the  door  was  opened  and  the  voice  of  the 
farmer  was  heard  speaking  to  the  dogs. 

"Seems  there  must  be  some  varmint  down  the 
lane  or  else  the  dogs  would  listen/'  Bentley  heard 
the  old  man  mutter,  for  the  dogs  still  held  their 
ground  and  refused  to  listen  to  the  call  of  their 
master. 

"Call  off  your  dogs,  neighbor,"  shouted  the 
young  officer.  "I  want  to  come  up  to  the  house." 

"Why,  consarn  me  ef  'taint  some  human  crit- 
ter," the  old  man  was  heard  to  remark. 

"Hellow!  Who  be  you,  and  what  does  yer 
want  this  time  o'night?" 

"Call  away  the  dogs  that  I  can  come  nearer,  my 
friend,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  the  officer. 

"Jist  wait  till  I  get  'er  light,"  and  ere  long  he 


BENTLEY  CARRIES  A   MESSAGE.  279 

was  approaching  with  a  lighted  pine  knot  in  one 
hand  and  a  good  sized  club  in  the  other  with  which 
he  drove  back  the  lean,  hungry  animals,  whose  very 
fierceness  was  no  doubt  superinduced  by  their 
starved  -condition. 

As  the  old  man  approached  nearer  and  held  up 
his  pine  knot,  he  started  forward  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  glad  surprise,  for  he  had  recognized  the 
officer. 

"Wall,  I  swan  ter  grashus,  ef  it  haint  one  of  the 
sojer  boys  from  camp!  Where  be  yer  goin'  any- 
how?" 

Bentley  informed  him  he  was  at  the  present 
seeking  lodging  for  himself  and  steed,  and  begged 
to  know  if  he  could  be  accommodated. 

"Sutinly,  sutinly,  Capting ;  jist  lite  an'  I'll  tend 
to  yer  critter.  Better  wait  here  a  spell  an'  I  will 
soon  be  with  yer,"  and  as  he  said  this  he  walked 
away  in  the  direction  of  a  low  shed  or  out-building 
leading  the  officer's  horse  by  the  bridle-rein ;  first, 
however,  placing  in  the  hands  of  Bentley  the  club 
he  carried  to  serve  as  an  instrument  of  protection 
in  case  the  canine  contingency  should  renew  their 
attack. 

He  soon  returned  and  with  the  remark  that 
"keepin'  lodgers  wasn't  hardly  in  their  line,  but  he 


2  SO  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

guessed  he  could  find  a  restin'  place,  if  the  Capting 
wasn't  over  pertickler,"  he  led  the  way  to  a  seeming 
annex  to  the  house. 

Ushering  his  guest  into  a  small  room  with  a  low 
ceiling  and  one  diminutive  window,  he  volun- 
teered the  information  that  this  had  been  the  over- 
seer's quarters  before  he  had  gone  off  to  the  war, 
but  since  that  time  it  hadn't  been  used  much. 

The  furniture  consisted  of  a  small  sheet-iron 
stove,  calculated  for  burning  wood,  a  low  bed,  a 
small  pine  table,  and  a  couple  of  chairs  of  very  an- 
cient pattern. 

The  officer  slung  the  haversack  on  the  table, 
drew  one  of  the  chairs  to  him,  beckoning  the 
farmer  to  occupy  the  other,  which  he  did,  after 
sticking  his  torch  between  the  cracks  of  the  floor. 

Bentley  then  informed  his  host  that  he  was  on 
important  business  and  desired  to  leave  early  in  the 
morning,  that  he  might  possibly  be  gone  before  the 
farmer  would  be  stirring. 

He  asked  the  farmer  to  kindly  care  for  his  steed 
until  his  return,  as  he  purposed  making  the  rest  of 
the  way  on  foot.  He  said  he  was  prepared  to  ef- 
fect a  disguise  that  might  deceive  even  the  farmer 
himself. 

The  host  expressed  his  willingness  to  care  for 


BENTUEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE.  28 1 

the  "officer's  critter/'  but  he  doubted  very  much 
if  any  disguise  could  be  gotten  up  that  would  de- 
ceive him. 

Their  interview  being  ended,  the  old  gentle- 
man took  his  leave  and  Bentley,  after  first  screen- 
ing the  window  so  as  to  prevent  any  passer-by 
from  being  attracted  by  the  light,  at  once  set  to 
work.  First  he  emptied  the  contents  of  the  haver- 
sack upon  the  table,  and  instead  of  the  usual  hard- 
tack, bacon,  bread,  ground  coffee  and  sugar  found 
in  such  receptacles,  there  rolled  out  a  bottle  of  dark 
liquid,  a  negro  wig,  a  suit  of  soiled  linen  much  the 
worse  for  wear,  a  pair  of  badly  run-down  old  boots, 
a  cotton  shirt,  a  faded  handkerchief,  and  an  old 
straw  hat.  These,  with  the  addition  of  a  small 
hand  mirror,  completed  the  outfit. 

With  a  small  brush  he  deftly  covered  his  face, 
throat,  neck,  arms  and  hands  with  the  dark  liquid 
and  was  soon  transformed  into  an  African  of  ebony 
hue. 

After  adjusting  the  wig  to  his  head  and  mak- 
ing a  change  of  clothing,  tying  the  handkerchief 
around  his  neck  in  the  fashion  common  with  negro 
laborers,  he  felt  his  disguise  was  complete,  and 
doubted  very  much  if  his  host  should  now  call, 


282  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

whether  he  would  recognize  in  the  tall  negro  his 
caller  of  only  a  few  hours  previous. 

Then  carefully  rolling  the  cast-off  clothing  into 
as  small  a  bundle  as  possible,  he  placed  it  within 
the  stove  as  the  best  available  hiding  place; 
then,  after  removing  all  other  evidence  of  his  pres- 
ence there  as  a  Union  officer,  and  being  weary  and 
worn,  he  carelessly  threw  himself  across  the  bed 
and  was  soon  locked  in  slumber. 

It  was  well  for  him  that  this  metamorphose  had 
taken  place,  as  subsequent  events  will  show. 

He  knew  not  how  long  he  had  slumbered,  but 
his  dreams  were  rudely  interrupted,  and  he  was 
awakened  by  hearing  a  great  commotion  among 
the  dogs  outside,  and  the  loud  voices  of  men  speak- 
ing in  an  excited  manner. 

Bentley  lay  quite  still  and  listened.  He  could 
detect  the  voice  of  the  farmer  remonstrating  with 
some  one  and  declaring  there  was  no  one  beneath 
his  roof  except  those  of  his  own  immediate  house- 
hold. 

"Ya-as,  but  we  uns  knows  better,  fer  hev'nt  we 
spied  his  critter  in  yan  shed?  Guess  we  uns  know 
a  cavalry  hoss  when  we  seed  'um." 

But  still  the  farmer  protested,  although  he  did 


BENTLEY  CARRIES  A   MESSAGE.  283 

not  attempt  to  explain  the  presence  of  the  officer's 
charger. 

Bentley,  as  he  lay  and  listened,  felt  that  the  ar- 
gument put  up  by  his  host  was  as  much  intended 
to  give  him  time  to  escape  as  to  convince  the  guer- 
rillas that  he  was  not  to  be  found  under  his  roof. 

"I  say  we  search  the  house,  Dan?"  said  one. 

"Agreed,"  said  the  one  addressed  as  Dan.  "I 
jist  wanter  set  my  eyes  on  the  chap  who  placed  this 
rosette  above  my  eye,  an'  I'll  pay  him  back  with  in- 
terest, see  ef  I  don't." 

The  listener  had  suspicions  that  these  two  men 
were  his  assailants  by  the  wayside,  now  he  was  fully 
convinced,  but  he  had  no  thought  of  trying  to  ef- 
fect an  escape.  He  felt  he  could  rely  upon  his  dis- 
guise ;  at  all  events  it  would  be  a  good  opportunity 
to  test  it ;  besides,  had  he  not  his  trusty  revolver  in 
his  breast  pocket,  and  with  this  he  drew  it  forth  and 
held  it  in  his  hand  ready  for  instant  action  if  the  oc- 
casion required  it. 

The  sound  of  voices  and  foot  steps  was  heard 
approaching.  The  officer  turned  over  on  his  side 
and  pretended  to  be  in  a  deep  sleep. 

Shortly  the  door  was  rudely  swung  ajar  and  the 
two  men  stepped  in.  The  old  farmer  remained 
trembling  outside,  for  he  was  not  certain  whether 


284  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

his  guest  had  been  aroused  and  taken  his  departure 
or  not. 

In  event  of  him  still  being  there,  he  was  expect- 
ing every  minute  to  hear  the  sounds  of  a  desperate 
struggle;  but  in  a  short  time  both  made  their  ap- 
pearance in  the  doorway,  the  one  called  Dan  re- 
marking that  all  they  could  find  in  there  was  a 
dratted  old  nigger,  but  whether  he  was  drunk  or 
too  sleepy  to  answer  any  of  their  questions  they 
couldn't  say. 

The  farmer  heard  this  announcement  with 
amazement,  but  wisely  said  nothing. 

"Guess  we've  missed  our  covey,  Bill?"  said  Dan. 
"Must  hev  heard  us  an'  sloped,  but  drat  him,  we'll 
jist  take  his  critter  fer  I  hev  a  sorter  lame  foot,  an' 
would  jist  as  soon  ride  as  walk." 

Repairing  to  the  stable,  Dan  proceeded  to  pos- 
sess himself  of  Bentley's  steed,  while  his  compan- 
ion, not  feeling  disposed  to  walk,  appropriated  to 
his  own  use  one  of  the  farmer's  skinny  mules,  and 
although  the  farmer  put  up  a  strong  protest  against 
the  taking  away  of  a  portion  of  his  team,  the  thieves 
laughed  in  his  face  and  at  once  galloped  away. 

This  had  truly  been  an  eventful  night  to  the  old 
man;  twice  had  his  slumbers  been  disturbed,  and 


BENTLEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE.  285 

now  to  suffer  the  loss  of  his  property  was  trying 
upon  his  nerves. 

He  felt  that  all  slumber  was  for  the  present  dis- 
pelled, so  set  about  arranging  for  the  work  of  the 
coming  day,  which  the  faint  streaks  of  light  in  the 
east  warned  him  was  approaching. 

Knowing  his  guest  had  expressed  his  intention 
of  taking  an  early  leave,  he  decided  to  see  if  he  had 
returned,  and  at  all  events  to  learn  something  re- 
garding the  party  whom  the  guerrillas  stated  as 
finding  on  his  premises. 

"There  aint  nary  nigger,  big  or  little,  about 
this  place,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "not  since 
Grant  settled  down  in  these  yer  parts,  and  every  one 
took  to  their  heels  thinkin'  they  is  gwine  to  be  made 
free  right  away ;"  and  thus  communing  with  himself 
he  approached  the  former  quarters  of  his  overseer 
and  entered.  Captain  Bentley  had  heard  him 
coming  and  had  arisen  and  was  quietly  sitting  upon 
the  edge  of  the  bed  trying  to  picture  to  himself  his 
host's  surprise. 

The  old  man  this  time  caried  in  his  hand  an  im- 
provised candle  much  in  use  in  the  South  during 
the  latter  days  of  the  war. 

It  consisted  of  a  piece  of  cotton  wick  dipped  in- 
to a  liquid  of  melted  resin,  and  while  warm  wrapped 


286  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

around  a  stick,  the  top  end  passing  through  a  piece 
of  perforated  tin.  This  formed  a  good  light,  and 
when  once  burned  down  to  the  tin  the  light  was  put 
out  and  the  wick  pulled  up  and  again  re-lit. 

Pushing  open  the  door  and  entering  the  room 
his  gaze  at  once  rested  upon  decidedly  the  "black- 
est nigger,"  to  use  his  own  words,  "that  he  had  ever 
seen." 

His  surprise  was  so  great  that  he  started  back- 
ward and  in  his  consternation  dropped  his  candle, 
which,  striking  on  its  end,  the  light  was  extin- 
guished. He  hastily  re-lit  it  and  in  a  voice  he  tried 
very  hard  to  have  sound  authoritative,  demanded 
of  the  figure  sitting  upon  the  side  of  the  bed,  lazily 
swinging  his  legs  while  he  gazed  at  the  old  gentle- 
man with  an  impudent  grin  upon  his  face  "to  clar 
out." 

"Wha — what's  yer  doin'  here,  yer  black  imp? 
Seems  yer  makin'  yersel'  mighty  much  ter  home  ef 
I  knows  anything.  Who  guv  yer  permission  ter 
come  into  this  yer  room?" 

"Youse  did,  massa,"  replied  his  colored  auditor. 

"'Tis  not  so,  you  lying'  scamp ;  I  don't  invite  no 
nigger  ter  sleep  in  my  house,  so  you  better  go  back 
ter  where  yer  come  from.  Where's  the  young  of- 
ficer I  put  to  sleep  in  this  room?  I  spose  when  he 


BENTLEY   CARRIES  A   MESSAGE.  28/ 

was  out  yer  done  sneaked  in,  an'  ef  he  comes  in  now 
he  won't  want  to  lie  down  on  a  bed  a  dirty  nigger 
tramp  was  sleepin'  on,  so  yer  better  travel  fore  I  call 
the  dogs." 

"That  will  hardly  be  necessary,"  said  Bentley, 
resuming  his  natural  tone  of  voice. 

The  old  man  started  as  though  he  had  received 
an  electric  shock,  then  came  forward  and  closely 
scrutinized  the  face  of  the  supposed  negro. 

"Not  so  bad  a  make-up,  my  friend,"  said  the  of- 
ficer, laughing. 

"Wall,  I'll  be  gosh  hanged !"  ejaculated  the  old 
man,  ef  yer  haint  done  gone  an'  fooled  the  ole  man 
completely. 

"So  yer  were  the  nigger  the  thieves  were  talkin' 
about  when  they  done  come  out?" 

"Yes,  they  thought  first  I  was  a  white  man  till 
they  turned  me  over ;  then  they  asked  me  some 
questions  about  whether  I  had  seen  a  white  man 
about,  but  of  course  I  was  too  stupid  to  understand 
them." 

"Not  much  wonder  they  didn't  know  yer,  but  I 
am  mighty  sorry  to  tell  yer,  they  know'd  yer  horse, 
an'  what's  worse  swiped  him  as  well  as  my  lead 
mule." 

The  old  man  said  this  in  so  doleful  a   tone   of 


288  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

voice  that  Bentley  was  moved  to  a  feeling  of  sym- 
pathy, and  tried  to  offer  words  of  consolation  by 
saying  that  as  he  was  largely  responsible  for  the 
visit  of  the  midnight  maurauders  and  the  loss  of  the 
mule,  he  would  see  that  the  farmer  would  be  reim- 
bursed for  his  loss. 

This  proved  to  be  very  satisfactory  to  the  old 
man,  and  after  informing  the  officer  that  he  would 
bring  him  his  breakfast  as  soon  as  the  "wimmen 
folks  got  to  stirrin,"  he  left  him  to  do  his  morning 
chores. 

In  due  time  he  again  entered  with  a  well-filled 
tray  of  nicely  cooked  victuals,  which  the  hungry 
officer  did  justice  to. 

After  being  refreshed,  he  informed  the  farmer 
he  was  ready  to  proceed  on  his  way. 

The  old  gentleman  regretted  that  he  didn't  have 
a  guide  to  offer  him,  but  as  all  his  negroes  had 
taken  "French  leave"  he  was  not  able  to  do  so. 

Bentley  concluded  it  was  advisable  that  he 
travel  without  a  companion,  "for,"  said  he,  "you 
know  one  nigger  will  attract  less  attention  than 
two." 

The  old  gentleman  understood  the  allusion,  and 
laughingly  assented. 

The  officer  said  he  would  ask  of  the  farmer  one 


BENTLEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE.  289 

favor,  namely,  the  loan  of  his  walking  stick;  then 
promising  to  return  that  way  and  recompense  the 
farmer,  he  went  on  his  way  with  a  decided  limp  in 
his  gait. 

He  knew  that  by  taking  a  short  cut  through  a 
swamp,  he  would  be  able  to  reach  the  James  river 
quicker  than  to  pursue  the  regular  highway. 

He  chose  the  former  route  and  carefully  made 
his  way  through  field  and  woodland,  avoiding 
meeting  any  one  as  much  as  possible. 

He,  however,  in  turning  the  corner  of  a  wood, 
came  across  a  small  party  of  men  engaged  in  ex- 
tracting stumps  from  a  clearing  . 

Bentley  discovered  them  first,  but  seeing  he 
could  not  avoid  them  he  made  his  way  toward  them, 
his  limp  perceptibly  growing  worse  as  he  drew 
near. 

Of  these,  he  made  inquiry  where  to  find  a  good 
crossing  of  the  river. 

They  directed  him  to  a  colored  man  living 
about  two  miles  down  the  stream,  whom  they  said 
owned  a  small  skiff  and  sometimes  ferried  people 
across,  but  they  wouldn't  advise  him  crossing,  as 
the  Yankee  troopers  on  the  other  side  were  gob- 
bling up  all  the  niggers  they  could  lay  their  hands 
on  and  making  black  "sojers"  out  of  them. 

19 


29O  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

One  of  the  workers  said  it  was  a  dratted  shame 
that  southern  gentlemen  had  to  fight  their  own 
property. 

The  negro  thanked  them  for  their  information, 
and  with  the  remark  that  a  nigger  with  a  badly 
sprained  ankle  wouldn't  likely  be  much  account  as 
a  "sojer"  in  either  army,  he  hobbled  away.  Once 
out  of  sight  his  limp  ceased,  and  he  walked  briskly 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 

In  due  time  he  found  the  dusky  ferry-man  and 
struck  a  bargain  with  him  to  be  ferried  across  the 
stream.  While  this  was  being  done  he  plied  the  fer- 
ry-man with  questions,  learning  from  him  that  oft- 
times  the  Union  pickets  on  the  other  side  came 
close  down  to  the  river,  and  that  only  a  few  miles 
back  there  was  a  considerable  body  of  men  en- 
camped. All  the  while  this  conversation  was  being 
carried  on,  the  ferry-man  entertained  not  the  slight- 
est suspicion  but  what  his  companion,  like  himself, 
belonged  to  the  down-trodden  African  race. 

The  information  received  from  the  sable  ferry- 
man was  very  pleasing  to  Bentley,  and  they  had  no 
sooner  landed  than  he  sprang  out  of  the  skiff,  and 
throwing  away  his  walking  stick  nimbly  climbed 
the  steep  bank,  while  the  ferry-man  looked  after 
him  with  open-eyed  amazement. 


BENTLEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE.  2QI 

"Dat  ar  nigga  jist  shammin'  sho'  enuff ;  no  lame 
foot  about  him  dat  sartin." 

Bentley  made  his  way  rapidly  until  he  was  ac- 
costed by  a  picket,  having  suddenly  come  across 
one  of  the  out-posts  of  Sheridan's  army. 

He  made  known  the  nature  of  his  mission  to 
these  men,  but  they  were  skeptical  and  doubted  his 
being  a  messenger  sent  from  Grant,  one  of  them  de- 
claring that  General  Grant  had  plenty  of  good,  re- 
liable white  men  to  carry  his  messages  without  hav- 
ing to  hunt  up  representatives  of  the  colored  race. 

Bentley  enjoyed  their  talk  for  a  short  while, 
then  to  their  surprise  he  bared  his  arm  to  the  shoul- 
der, showing  the  upper  portion  white,  while  the 
lower  part  was  of  ebony  hue.  He  also  removed  his 
wig,  thus  convincing  them  beyond  a  doubt  that  he 
was  not  one  of  that  race  whose  day  of  servitude  was 
almost  over. 

The  officer  was  sent  under  a  guard  to  the  head- 
quarters of  the  great  cavalry  chieftain,  and  as  he 
passed  along,  many  were  the  curious  glances  be- 
stowed upon  him,  for  his  entire  make-up  was  a  pe- 
culiar one. 

Arriving  at  his  point  of  destination,  he  was 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  Sheridan,  whom  he 
found  busily  engaged  in  signing  a  bundle  of  reports 


ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

that  lay  before  him.     Bentley   paused   inside   the 
door,  awaiting  the  General's  leisure. 

When  the  last  report  was  signed  he  looked  up 
and  noticing  a  colored  man  standing  in  the  attitude 
of  attention,  addressed  him  with,  "Well,  my  sable 
friend,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Bentley  advanced,  made  a  graceful  salute  and 
without  a  word,  laid  the  four  cartridges  he  carried 
upon  the  table  in  front  of  the  General. 

"Humph!"  exclaimed  Sheridan,  "something 
from  Grant,"  and  quickly  selecting  those  of  darker 
shade,  he  deftly  unscrewed  the  exposed  part  of  the 
bullet  of  the  two,  and  out  dropped  a  neatly  folded 
piece  of  tissue  paper,  having  something  closely 
written  thereon  in  a  neat  hand. 

It  was  evinced  to  Bentley  that  these  were  not 
the  first  messages  received  by  Sheridan  from  Grant, 
put  up  in  that  peculiar  way. 

The  General  read  the  dispatches  over  carefully, 
then  seizing  a  pen  and  a  piece  of  blank  paper,  he 
wrote  rapidly  for  a  few  moments ;  calling  an  orderly 
he  bid  him  deliver  it  without  delay. 

Then  turning  to  the  messenger,  who  still  stood 
at  a  respectful  attention,  he  addressed  him: 
"Your  name,  sir?" 


BENTLEY   CARRIES   A   MESSAGE.  2Q3 

"Captain  Bentley,  of  the Penna.  Cav- 
alry." 

"Impossible,  sir!  I  have  heard  of  Captain 
Bentley,  and  from  what  I  have  learned  he  is  a  white 
man  of  remarkable  nerve  and  daring;  besides,  I 
know  of  the  regiment  you  refer  to ;  it  is  in  Warren's 
command  and  I  have  no  knowledge  of  their  being 
any  colored  company  in  the  entire  body." 

Bentley's  cheeks  glowed  with  a  flush  of  pride 
at  the  favorable  mention  of  himself  by  this  dashing 
cavalry  leader. 

An  amused  smile  overspread  his  face  as  he  ob- 
served the  close  scrutiny  the  General  was  making 
of  his  person. 

After  this  inspection  was  continued  for  a  few 
moments,  Sheridan  remarked,  "Features  a  little 
too  sharp,  tone  of  voice  rather  light,  otherwise  your 
make-up  is  perfect,  but  pray  what  was  your  object 
in  assuming  this  disguise? 

Bentley  informed  him  of  the  route  over  which 
he  had  come  in  order  to  make  time,  and  the  neces- 
sity of  a  safe  disguise  in  order  to  avoid  interruption 
and  perhaps  delay,  and  he  had  been  reminded  by 
Grant  that  expedition  was  essentially  necessary. 

"You  are  right,"  assented  Sheridan,  "for  a  por- 
tion of  the  way  over  which  you  have  come  is  now 


294  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

being  overrun  by  hordes  of  the  dissatisfied  of  Lee's 
army,  and  they  are  ready  to  intercept  friend  or  foe. 

Bentley  then  related  the  incident  at  the  farm 
house,  and  mentioned  the  loss  of  his  horse. 

"So  then,  you  are  out  a  horse,  eh?"  said  the  Gen- 
eral. "Well,  you  shall  have  as  good  a  one  as  you 
lost,"  and  picking  up  a  pen  he  wrote  a  few  lines, 
affixing  at  the  bottom,  "By  order  of  P.  H.  Sheri- 
dan," handing  it  to  Bentley  with  the  remark,  "I 
have  issued  orders.  We  break  camp  to-day;  you 
can  ride  with  us." 

Bentley  glanced  at  the  writing  upon  the  paper, 
and  found  it  was  a  requisition  upon  the  Division 
Quartermaster  for  a  complete  outfit  of  horse,  sad- 
dle and  bridle.  He  thanked  the  General,  made  the 
usual  salute  and  took  his  departure. 

Captain  Bentley's  return  with  Sheridan's  troop- 
ers enable  him  to  escape  the  danger  incident  to  a 
return  alone. 

He  called  at  the  farm  house  on  his  way  back  and 
found  that  his  friend  had  received  no  further  mo- 
lestation; he  found  the  package  he  had  placed  in 
the  stove  still  undisturbed,  and  laying  aside  his 
negro  costume,  he  soon  emerged  clad  again  in  his 
uniform. 


BENTLEY   CARRIES  A   MESSAGE.  295 

Bentley,  upon  his  return,  reported  to  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  and  received  his  thanks. 

In  due  time  the  old  farmer  found  a  recompense 
for  his  mule,  which  placed  the  young  cavalry  cap- 
tain higher  in  his  esteem  than  ever. 

This  juncture  of  Sheridan  with  Grant  gave  the 
Union  army  an  unbroken  line  clear  to  Appomattox. 


296  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WOUNDED-MARRIAGE-DEATH. 

HE  end  of  the  long  struggle  was  at  last  in 
sight.     Grant  was  closing  in  on  Peters- 
burg.    The  battle  of  Five  Forks  was 
fought.     In  this  engagement  the  cavalry 
under  Sheridan  took  an  active  part. 

Our  hero  with  his  company  was  in  the  thickest 
of  the  fight.  Captain  Bentley  heretofore  seemed 
to  bear  a  charmed  life.  He  was  well  in  advance 
of  his  men  waving  his  sword  and  cheering  them  on, 
when  all  of  a  sudden  his  sword  was  seen  to  drop 
from  his  hand  and  a  moment  later  he  pitched  from 
his  charger,  and  fell  heavily  upon  the  ground. 

A  number  of  his  men  rushed  forward,  picked 
him  up  and  tenderly  bore  him  to  the  rear.  He  was 
unconscious  but  breathing  heavily.  A  hasty  ex- 
amination was  made  and  it  was  found  that  his  right 
arm  had  been  pierced  by  a  piece  of  shell  and  badly 
shattered  from  elbow  to  hand,  besides  there  was  a 
frightful  gash  upon  his  head,  caused  by  coming  in 


WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH. 

contact  with  a  sharp  boulder  as  he  fell.  This  no 
doubt  caused  his  state  of  insensibility.  An  am- 
bulance coming  up,  he  was  carefully  placed  within 
and  hurried  off  to  the  field  hospital. 

Three  weeks  later  we  find  him  pale  and  wan 
from  the  loss  of  blood,  in  one  of  the  city  hospitals 
of  Washington.  His  arm  had  been  amputated 
twice ;  first,  below  the  elbow  and  again  a  few  inches 
above. 

Word  had  been  sent  home  by  a  comrade,  stat- 
ing that  he  was  seriously  wounded,  nothing  more, 
and  again  the  little  village  was  astir.  Its  peaceful 
inhabitants  had  passed  through  many  exciting 
events  during  the  past  four  years. 

Petersburg  and  Richmond  had  fallen,  and  on 
that  memorable  field  of  Appomattox,  a  few  days 
later,  the  Confederate  army  under  Lee  had  surren- 
dered. Peace  had  come  and  loud  and  wild  were 
the  huzzas  as  the  victors  came  marching  home. 
Everybody  seemed  wild  with  excitement.  Bells 
were  rung  and  bonfires  were  made  to  commemor- 
ate the  event.  George  Coulter  had  returned  with 
the  gold  leaf  of  a  major  upon  his  shoulder  straps. 
The  remaining  survivor  of  the  little  band  of  four, 

who  first  marched  forth  from  N lay  dying  in 

the  hospital. 


2Q8  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

Yes,  the  news  had  come  that  Captain  Bentley 
was  very  low.  A  conference  was  being  held  in  the 
Bentley  homestead.  Some  one  must  go  to  Wash- 
ington. Who  should  it  be?  Annie  Preston  was 
there.  In  spite  of  her  pride,  she  was  drawn  to  the 
old  couple,  and  passed  much  of  her  time  with  them 
since  the  news  had  come  of  James  being  wounded. 
She  felt  that  some  horrible  mistake  existed  betwixt 
she  and  her  lover,  but  she  could  not  desert  the  aged 
mother  now,  when  she  most  needed  a  friend.  The 
question  was  again  asked,  "Who  will  go  to  Wash- 
ington?" Walter  was  quite  willing,  but  his  youth- 
fulness  prevented  on  an  occasion  like  this.  The 
mother  could  not  go,  so  it  fell  upon  the  father. 
Annie  Preston  expressed  her  determination  to  ac- 
company him.  This  was  a  pleasant  surprise,  and 
Farmer  Bentley  felt  pleased  to  know  he  would  have 
a  companion. 

Annie  did  not  stop  to  consider  what  people 
might  say.  She  did  not  care.  Her  heart  told 
her  that  she  was  needed  there. 

They  set  forth  on  their  journey  next  morning 
and  arrived  in  the  Capitol  city  by  nightfall.  Could 
Annie  have  had  her  way,  she  would  have  started 
out  at  once  to  find  the  hospital,  but  the  counsel  of 
her  companion  prevailed. 


WOUNDED — MARRIAGE — DEATH. 

They  rested  over  night,  and  in  the  morning  hav- 
ing received  some  necessary  directions,  they  set 
forth.  Ere  long  they  reached  the  hospital  and 
having  made  known  the  object  of  their  visit,  they 
were  politely  shown  to  the  office  of  the  surgeon  in 
charge,  who  as  soon  as  he  learned  the  name  of  the 
wounded  officer  for  whom  they  were  looking,  re- 
plied : 

"Ah,  yes ;  Captain  Bentley,  one  of  the  bravest 
men  in  his  regiment/'  Calling  an  orderly  he  di- 
rected him  to  show  the  lady  and  gentleman  to  ward 
No.  17. 

Captain  Bentley  lay  that  morning  quietly  on 
his  cot,  his  mind  busy  on  things  not  pertaining  to 
this  world.  He  had  always  kept  his  little  Testa- 
ment with  him  and  now  since  his  confinement  in 
the  hospital,  it  had  proven  a  rich  solace  to  him, 
and  many  were  the  comforting  passages  he  had 
found  within  its  lids.  He  had  felt  for  sometime 
back  that  he  might  never  see  the  old  home  and  his 
loved  ones  again,  but  the  thought  did  not  cause 
him  much  uneasiness.  What  was  it  to  him  to  go 

back  to  N ?  He  felt  that  he  had  lost  Annie 

Preston,  and  there  was  naught  else  except  his 
dear  old  parents  and  Walter.  He  felt  that  he 
would  like  to  see  them  all  again  and  feel  their  kiss 


3OO  ANDREW     BENTLEY. 

upon  his  cheek,  but  here  his  yearnings  for  home 
ended.  He  had  lain  for  days  feeling  the  throbbing 
of  his  maimed  arm,  for  he  had  been  obliged  to  un- 
dergo a  third  amputation.  This  time  the  doctors 
had  taken  it  off  close  to  the  shoulder,  as  the  only 
remedy  to  save  the  young  officer's  life.  He  was 
resting  quietly  now,  though  much  exhausted. 

When  Annie  and  the  father  reached  the  ward  in 
which  the  patient  lay,  it  was  deemed  best  for  the 
nurse  to  apprise  him  of  the  presence  of  his  father 
but  to  say  nothing  of  the  young  lady.  After  the 
nurse  had  in  a  quiet  way  told  him  of  the  arrival  of 
his  parent,  the  father  stepped  forward  grasping  his 
son's  remaining  hand,  sank  upon  his  knees  at  the 
bedside,  bowing  over  him  and  in  sobbing  tones, 
murmured,  "My  boy !  My  boy !" 

The  sufferer  looked  up  with  a  glad  smile  and 
said,  "Father,  I  thought  you  would  come,  but  is 
that  mother  with  you?"  for  his  quick  eye  had  de- 
tected a  strange  lady  in  conversation  with  the  nurse. 
Annie  had  purposely  turned  her  back  so  he  would 
not  at  first  recognize  her. 

"No,"  said  the  father,  "mother  could  not  come, 
but  there  is  one  here  whom  I  think  you  would  be 
pleased  to  see,"  and  beckoning  Annie  forward,  he 
stepped  quietly  aside. 


WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH.  30! 

Annie  had  planned  how  she  would  meet  with 
James,  but  one  glance  at  the  pale  emaciated  face 
and  the  bandaged  stump  lying  across  the  counter- 
pane, and  she  forgot  everything.  Bounding  for- 
ward with  a  low  cry  of  anguish  she  knelt  at  the  bed- 
side of  her  poor  maimed  lover. 

Captain  Bentley's  face  spoke  volumes,  but  he 
could  only  whisper,  "My  darling!  My  darling! 
At  last!  At  last !" 

Farmer  Bentley  deemed  it  best  to  withdraw  for 
a  short  time  and  leave  the  lovers  to  themselves. 
Then  followed  explanations.  James  told  how  he 
had  written  again  and  again,  and  how  he  had  pa- 
tiently awaited  a  reply,  hoping  against  hope. 

Annie  had  the  same  story  to  tell;  she  had  re- 
ceived but  one  letter,  the  first  one  James  had  writ- 
ten from  Camp  Stoneman.  This  letter  she  had 
promptly  answered.  They  both  thought  it  very 
strange  that  the  letters  James  had  written  to  his 
parents  and  their  reply  to  him  had  passed  regularly. 

All  of  a  sudden  James  asked,  "Who  handles  the 
mail  now  at  home?"  for  James  was  not  aware,  or 
had  perhaps  forgotten  that  there  had  been  a  change 
in  the  post  office  at  N . 

"Why,  Henry  Wililams,"  replied  Annie;  "But 
why  do  you  ask?" 


3O2  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

"That  explains  it  all,  then/'  said  her  lover,  and 
he  related  to  Annie  all  of  Henry's  conduct  towards 
him  while  he  was  in  the  ranks,  and  also  of  his  per- 
fidy at  home. 

Annie  then  told  him  of  Henry's  aspirations  to- 
ward her  and  James  felt  he  now  fully  understood 
the  cause  of  Henry  Williams'  unfriendly  attitude  to- 
ward him.  They  were  both  now  fully  convinced 
that  they  had  been  victims  of  their  school-mate's 
villainy. 

It  was  thought  best  by  the  nurse  that  they  had 
beter  not  prolong  their  stay  further,  as  it  might 
prove  too  exhaustive  for  her  patient,  but  that  they 
could  return  on  the  morrow. 

The  father  at  this  juncture  returned  and  passed 
a  few  moments  in  conversation  with  his  son.  They 
then  took  their  departure,  promising  to  return  on 
the  morrow.  The  wounded  man  seemed  much 
refreshed  by  this  interview.  He  appeared  to  for- 
get the  beating  of  his  maimed  arm.  He  looked 
eagerly  for  their  coming. 

When  they  called  the  following  day,  they  found 
him  perceptibly  brighter.  James  enjoyed  a  quiet 
talk  with  his  father  about  home  matters,  then  a 
longer  one  with  Annie. 

As   they   were   about   to   leave    him,    James 


WOUNDED — MARRIAGE — DEATH.  303 

stretched  out  his  remaining  arm  towards  Annie 
and  drew  her  close  down  to  him,  while  he  whispered 
something  in  her  ear. 

"Yes/'  replied  Annie,  blushing  deeply,  "I  said 
1  would  join  my  fortune  to  yours,  be  you  maimed  or 
unscathed." 

"Are  you  ready,  darling,  to  fulfill  that  promise 
now?"  and  the  wounded  soldier  beamed  upon  her 
a  look  of  tenderness. 

Annie  looking  into  his  face,  felt  she  could  deny 
him  nothing,  so  she  murmured,  "Yes,  I  am  ready." 

The  smile  that  lit  up  the  poor,  wan  face  was 
beautiful  to  behold.  So  it  was  arranged  that  the 
ceremony  should  take  place  the  following  morning. 
Captain  Bentley,  although  he  had  felt  better  since 
their  coming,  did  not  feel  quite  sure  that  he  would 
be  able  to  return  with  them,  and  he  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  Annie  leaving  him  as  aught  else 
than  his  wedded  bride. 

As  for  Annie,  she  preferred  to  return  as  his 
wife,  or  if  the  worst  came  to  worst,  as  his  widow. 

On  the  morrow  when  our  friends  came  to  the 
hospital,  they  were  accompanied  by  a  dignified 
looking  gentleman  in  clerical  garb.  They  repaired 
at  once  to  the  office  of  the  surgeon  in  charge,  where 
they  made  him  acquainted  with  their  purpose. 


3O4  ANDREW   BENTLEY. 

The  officer  entered  heartily  into  their  plans,  claim- 
ing the  right  of  giving  the  bride  away.  The 
wounded  soldier  was  comfortably  propped  up 
among  snowy  white  pillows,  and  everything  had 
been  tastefully  arranged  by  the  nurse,  when  the  lit- 
tle party,  consisting  of  the  head  surgeon,  the  minis- 
ter, Farmer  Bentley  and  Annie  entered.  They 
gathered  about  the  soldier's  bed-side.  The  jolly 
surgeon  gave  the  bride  away,  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  man  of  God  pronounced  them  man  and  wife. 

Annie's  heart  beat  wildly  as  she  bent  over  him 
to  receive  the  nuptial  kiss,  while  James  sank  back 
on  his  pillows  with  a  great  joy  in  his  heart. 

They  did  not  prolong  their  stay,  fearing  that  the 
excitement  would  prove  too  much  for  the  wounded 
officer,  so  left  him,  promising  to  return  soon. 

Captain  Bentley  seemed  to  improve  gradually 
and  each  visit  they  found  him  much  better,  so  they 
lengthened  their  stay  with  the  hope  that  he  might 
be  able  to  return  with  them.  At  length  it  was 
thought  that  with  care  he  might  be  taken  home. 
So  arrangements  were  made  for  their  return.  The 
day  was  set,  a  section  in  a  parlor  car  was  engaged, 
and  the  trio  set  out  on  their  journey  homeward. 
The  usual  speed  was  made  by  the  train,  but  the 
time  seemed  long  before  they  drew  up  at  their  des- 


WOUNDED MARRIAGE-^  DEATH.  305 

tination.  James  was  pretty  well  exhausted  when 
they  left  the  railway  coach.  Then  there  was  the 
ride  in  the  carriage,  though  short,  and  the  road 
carefully  chosen  by  the  driver,  it  still  added  to  his 
exhaustion,  and  it  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  he 
found  himself  in  the  dear  old  bed  room  at  home, 
carefully  tucked  in  bed,  'mid  snowy  linen  with  his 
mother's  arms  around  his  neck  and  her  soft  kiss 
resting  upon  his  cheek.  He  rested  quite  comfort- 
ably, only  waking  once  and  asking  for  a  drink. 

In  the  morning,  Annie  found  an  opportunity  to 
run  over  home  and  acquaint  them  of  her  return. 
She  had  apprised  them  by  letter  of  the  event  in  the 
hospital.  She  did  not  tarry  long,  but  hastened 
back  to  her  husband's  bedside.  He  was  awake, 
but  feeling  weak;  although  he  slumbered  well  he 
did  not  seem  refreshed.  The  bandages  on  his  arm 
had  become  displaced  and  the  sore  was  irritated 
and  inflamed. 

The  family  physician  was  called  in  and  the 
wound  nicely  dressed  and  re-bandaged,  and  James 
rested  more  quietly. 

Towards  evening  it  was  seen  that  he  was  grow- 
ing feverish.  Although  Annie  had  slept  but  little 
during  her  vigil  the  previous  night,  she  insisted  on 

20 


306  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

again  watching,  finally  agreeing  to  divide  the  night 
watch  with  Walter. 

Towards  midnight  he  grew  worse,  and  his  mind 
at  times  wandered.  Now  he  would  be  leading  his 
men ;  next  pleading  with  Annie  to  write  him  only  a 
line,  then  again  he  was  trying  to  make  his  way  home 
from  the  army  with  the  fear  of  capture  upon  him. 
But  near  morning,  he  fell  into  a  deep  slumber  only 
awakening  when  the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens. 

They  all  hoped  and  prayed  for  the  best,  but  the 
journey  home  had  been  too  much  for  him.  Each 
day  he  grew  weaker,  while  the  loving,  patient 
young  wife  sat  beside  him  and  watched  him  slip- 
ping away  from  her  day  by  day. 

Kind  neighbors  came  and  offered  their  help, 
but  she,  although  almost  prostrated,  would  entrust 
him  to  no  one,  unless  it  was  Walter,  who  faithfully 
shared  her  vigils  nightly. 

As  the  fever  increased,  his  ravings  grew  wilder, 
and  his  friends  shuddered  as  his  voice  would  loudly 
ring  out  ordering  his  men  to  "Charge  the  Battery !" 
while  he  would  try  in  vain  to  wave  the  scarred 
stump. 

Slowly  the  marble  pallor  and  the  strange  chill 
crept  on,  pinching  the  nose,  contracting  the  lips, 
touching  the  forehead  and  moistening  the  soft 


WOUNDED — MARRIAGE — DEATH.  307 

brown  hair  that  Annie  smoothed  caressingly,  as  she 
bent  down  to  catch  the  last  faint  whisperings  of  a 
spirit  nearly  gone. 

"We  fought  the  battle  bravely  and  our  flag  has 
triumphed,  but  Annie,  dear,  I  am  almost  home. 
Mother !  Father !  Brother  Walter !  Come  closer, 
I  cannot  see  you.  It  must  be  growing  dark." 
Annie  knew  it  was  the  film  of  death  stealing  over 
those  blue  eyes,  and  her  heart  was  almost  breaking. 

The  poor  mother  could  not  see  for  her  tears, 
nor  speak  for  her  sorrow.  They  all  gathered 
closer. 

"'Tis  not  so  hard  to  die;  no  pain  nor  anguish. 
All  peace,  peace."  His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper. 
Beckoning  his  father  to  him  he  whispered : 

"Father,  you  will  not  be  ashamed  of  your  boy 
when  he  is  gone?  I  tried  to  retrieve  my  honor." 

"Annie,  dearest,  kiss  me."  She  bowed  over 
him  and  pressed  her  lips  to  those  of  his,  now  chill- 
ing in  death. 

"Mother !  Walter !  Good-bye."  Then  for  a  time 
his  mind  seemed  to  wander.  Again  he  was  amid 
the  scenes  of  carnage.  "Forward  boys !  Keep  the 
flag  well  towards  the  front !"  These  were  his  last 
words,  for  a  sudden  chill  came  over  him  and  his 
hand  convulsively  clasped  Annie's  and  thus  passed 


308  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

away  one  of  the  brightest  and  bravest  of  the  many 
martyrs,  who  laid  their  lives  upon  the  altar  of  our 
country. 

Soldier,   rest!     Thy  warfare's  ended, 

Life's  last  conflict  now  is  o'er; 
Bugle-calls  with  death  notes  blended, 

Shall  disturb  thine  ear  no  more. 
Peaceful  is  thy  dreamless  slum'ber; 

.Peaceful,  but  how  cold  and  stern, 
Thou  hast  joined  that  silent  number, 

In  that  land  whence  none  return. 

Soldier,  rest!    Thy  flag  above  thee, 

Hangs  in  many  a  drooping  fold; 
Loved  one's  are  bending  o'er  thee, 

Many  tear  drops  we  behold: 
Thine  was  not  a  hand  to  falter, 

When  thy  sword  should  leave  its  sheath; 
Thine  was  not  a  cheek  to  alter, 

Though  thy  duty  led  to  death. 

Soldier,  rest!    We  smooth  thy  pillow, 

For  thy  last  long  earthly  sleep; 
Peacefully  among1  thy  kindred, 

Storms  unheard  will  o'er  thee  sweep. 
While  thy  young  bride  weeps  in  sorrow, 

That  no  more  she  hears  thy  tread, 
That  the  night  which  knows  no  morrow 

Darkly  veils  thy  laurel'd  head. 

The  entire  community  turned  out  to  pay  their 
respects  to  one  whom  they  all  loved.     They  gave 


WOUNDED— MARRIAGE — DEATH.         309 

him  a  soldier's  burial,  wrapping  around  his  casket 
the  flag  for  which  he  gave  his  young  life. 

The  same  old  drums  that  had  been  beaten  so 
joyously  on  that  bright  summer  morning  when  he 
had  first  marched  away,  now  sounded  the  sad  dirge 
of  the  "Dead  March  in  Saul." 

In  the  old  German  Reformed  Cemetery,  a  little 
way  out  from  the  village,  they  sorrowfully  laid  him 
down,  while  the  little  platoon  of  soldiers  led  by  his 
old  comrade,  Major  George  Coulter,  fired  the  part- 
ing salute  over  his  grave.  Not  far  from  him  lies 
one  of  his  companions  in  arms,  Alpheus  Forrest. 

Many  years  have  passed  since  that  sad  day. 
Other  graves  have  been  made  since  then,  and  lost 
sight  of  by  growing  foliage,  but  there  is  one  that 
receives  attention  same  as  in  the  years  gone  by. 
Above  it  rises  a  plain  marble  shaft  bearing  this  sim- 
ple inscription : 

"CAPTAIN  JAMES  ANDREW  BENTLEY.  " 

During  her  lifetime,  the  guardian  of  this  little 
mound  was  a  sad-eyed  woman,  bearing  much  of 
the  beauty  of  her  youth.  She  always  remained  as 
Mrs.  Annie  Bentley.  She  had  many  offers  of  mar- 
riage, but  preferred  to  remain  a  soldier's  widow. 


3IO  ANDREW    BENTLEY. 

She  was  frequently  assisted  in  the  care  of  this  grave 
by  a  tall,  bronzed  man,  closely  resembling  the  lover 
of  her  youth.  He  answers  to  the  name  of  Walter, 
and  is  the  same  in  his  loyalty  to  the  memory  of  the 
dead  soldier,  as  when  a  youth  he  sought  at  the  risk 
of  his  own  life  to  aid  and  assist  one  who  controlled 
his  entire  affection. 

It  would  hardly  be  fair  to  my  readers  to  close 
without  a  word  regarding  Major  George  Coulter 
and  Henry  Williams. 

The  former  rose  to  prominence  among  his  fel- 
low men,  and  upon  several  occasions  was  chosen  to 
fill  positions  of  honor  and  trust,  which  he  did  with 
credit  to  himself  and  his  constituents.  He  con- 
tinued up  to  the  time  of  his  death — which  occurred 
a  few  years  ago — an  honored  member  of  the  Grand 
Army  of  the  Republic. 

Henry  Williams  having  made  his  first  wrong 
step,  others  quickly  followed.  It  was  not  long 
until  a  suspicion  arose  that  the  mail  was  being  tam- 
pered with.  A  decoy  letter  was  sent  out  and 
Henry  fell  a  ready  victim.  He  was  obliged  to  un- 
dergo a  trial,  and  being  unable  to  clear  himself,  was 
forced  to  pay  the  penalty  for  his  wrong  doing.  Not 
having  for  years  past  much  standing  in  the  com- 
munity, he  had  less  after  satisfying  the  demands  of 


WOUNDED — MARRIAGE — DEATH.  3 1 1 

justice.  He,  therefore,  sought  a  home  in  a  distant 
state,  and  of  his  later  career  we  are  not  well  in- 
formed. 

And  now,  my  dear  readers,  the  tale  is  ended, 
but  if  the  perusal  of  this  has  afforded  you  as  much 
pleasure  as  the  writer  has  enjoyed  penning  it,  we  are 
satisfied,  for  we  have  lived  again  amid  the  scenes 
of  our  youth  and  the  companions  of  our  boyhood. 


THE  END 


An  intensely  interesting  story 
from  the  pen  of » .  .  *  * 

WALTER  SCOTT  BROWNE 

will  soon  appear  in  print 
under  the  title  of 

The  Rose  of  the  Wilderness, 

— or — 

Washington's  Firsf  Love. 


In  this  romance  will  be  found  much  that  will  hold  the  interest 
of  the  reader  from  start  to  finish. 

The  plot  is  laid  during  the  opening  years  of  the  French  and 
Indian  War— when  the  doughty  Englishman  contended  with  the 
fiery  Frenchman  for  possession  of  territory  in  America  that  was 
then  the  home  and  hunting-ground  of  the  untutored  savage. 

In  this  story,  so  graphically  written  by  the  author,  the  reader 
learns  more  in  detail  of  the  early  life  of  the  Father  of  Our  Country 
and  his  first  public  duty. 

The  ill-fated  expedition  of  General  Braddock  will  form  an 
interesting  part  of  this  narrative. 


CLOTH,   per  volume,         ...          $1.25 
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WALTER  S.  BROWNE, 
Vineland,  N.  J. 


Beptley... 


— or- 


flow;  fle  Retrieved  His  Honor 


A  war-time  story  breathing  the  spirit  of 
Love  and  Patriotism. 


— BY- 


WALTER  SCOTT  BROWNE 


IL.LUSTRATED--32O    PAGES. 


Price,   cloth    $1.00 

Paner    binding    , 50 


For  Agency  or  other  business,  address 


W.  S.  BROWNE, 
'Vineland,  N.  J. 


